Lay Me To Sleep
by missautonomy
Summary: A story following Brooke post-prom and how she copes with her vivid memories, the situations she is forced to face, and the people who mean everything to her. NEW CHAPTERS, NEW STYLE, NEW POV! Major Improvement. Please R&R!
1. It Ends Tonight

**Author's Note: Hey guys! So this is my first ever One Tree Hill fic, but I'm pretty excited about it. I'm in love with the show and I'm in love with the character. And of course, I'm a major drama whore so you can expect that from me. (: Anyway, I hope you enjoy my story and stick with it to the end. I don't think you'll be disappointed. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything regarding One Tree Hill. Only the altered plot line is my own.**

"Damn it." Brooke's voice was just above a whisper, but full of urgency. She'd already taken longer than she'd expected when she'd told Peyton to run. She knew very well what might happen if that psycho got the upper hand. She knew what would happen if Peyton showed even one second of weakness. She didn't pretend to know why he was doing this. The reasons behind Derek's obsession with Peyton were completely beyond her. But the reasons were irrelevent. He was up there just the same, doing god knows what to her best friend.

"Shit!" she screamed, her voice now growing in volume as her panic began to intensify. Behind her back, her hands were struggling to slip through the rope that bound her wrists together. That rope was the only thing restraining her. The only thing keeping her from marching upstairs and saving her best friend.

Brooke couldn't be sure, but she figured it had been somewhere around fifteen minutes since Derek had ran upstairs after Peyton. That reality struck a fear in the brunette that was so intense that she could not fight back the tears that sprung to her hazel eyes. If that blonde bastard so much as left a scratch on Peyton's perfect skin, Brooke would be livid. She would kill him, if she were capable of doing so. There was no doubt in her mind. She wouldn't hesitate before plunging a knife into his back. In fact, she would smile a sick, malicious smile knowing that she'd just rid her best friend of such a frightening aspect of her life, such an emotionally painful neuissance.

It was difficult for Brooke to believe that just a few hours ago, she had been undeniably pissed off at her blonde friend. And in all reality, Brooke had never felt more off balance. Her P. Sawyer had looked her straight in the eyes and said that she was dead to her. Devistation didn't even begin to describe how Brooke felt knowing that, after everything they had been through together, their friendship had now come to nothing. It was reality, but one that Brooke refused to accept. So when she'd arrived at Prom to find that Peyton had violated her dress, Brooke had grasped onto the fact that Peyton cared. Somewhere, deep beneath the surface, she still cared. Brooke convinced herself that Peyton hadn't meant what she said earlier that day in her front lawn. They were merely words said out of anger and spite. She wasn't serious.

She couldn't be.

At long last, Brooke managed to slip her one of her hands out of the knotted loop of rope. A sharp pain shot up her arm, but she didn't bother to investigate. There was no time to care for her own well being, not when Peyton was upstairs, alone with that freak.

With one hand free, it took no time at all for Brooke to liberate her other wrist, and within ten seconds she was running upstairs as fast as her dress would allow. She made a quick pit stop to the kitchen, then continued to the second story, clutching a large steak knife in her shaking hand. Outside Peyton's room, she stopped to listen through the closed door. The only sounds that met her ears were that of a low, 

staggered grunt. Brooke swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, bit down on her bottom lip, then crept quietly into the bedroom.

The sight before her almost made Brooke wish he'd heard her. At least then his focus would no longer be on the blonde that lay beneath him on the bed, the blonde that Brooke couldn't help but notice was disturbingly still. Brooke stood directly behind Derek now, who continued to thrust his hips forward in time with his throaty sgroan. She raised the knife above her head, but despite what she had believed downstairs, she did hesitate. Was she really going to kill a man? Was she really going to take that knife and plunge it into his back? Was she really going to face the consequences that came with committing an act like murder?

If it meant saving Peyton, then yes, she was.

She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. She let her arm fall swiftly.

The rest happened far too quickly to comprehend. In an instant, Derek arched upward, turning around in utter shock to see Brooke standing behind him, tears pouring down her flushed cheeks. He lurched forward, but Brooke dodged him. He hit the bookcase haphazardly, causing many records and other knick knacks to shower his body. As he fought to regain composure, Brooke rushed to Peyton's desk on the opposite side of the room and picked up the phone. Her eyes widened in horror with the lack of dial tone and she realized he had cut the phone lines.

Suddenly Brooke felt extremely vulnerable and helpless. She could not call for help and all she knew when it came to self defense were the normal instinctive punching and kicking. She looked over her shoulder to see that Derek was still struggling to stand up. Her mind was working in overdrive; every time her she saw the motionless Peyton in her peripheral vision, she had to force herself to ignore it. Before she could care for her friend, she had to make sure they were safe. Turning around to face the desk again, Brooke saw the window and had a thought. She ran to it, jerked it opened, and screamed out into the night air.

"Please, someone help us! Call 911! Anybody!"

She screamed again, but for an entirely different reason. A hand was clenched tightly around her ankle. Brooke looked down, terrified but not surprised to see Derek sprawled on the floor. The knife was still set in his back. "Let me go!" she demanded, then kicked him square in the face. Derek recoiled and Brooke took the opportunity to yank her ankle out of his grasp. Before moving away, however, she reached down, grabbed the handle of the knife, and turned it sharply. A loud yell was emitted from Derek's lips, but Brooke ignored it as she finally made her way to Peyton.

Brooke's vision blurred with tears as she hovered over her blonde friend. Peyton's white dress had turned red in far too many places, and it had a long rip up one side, from the bottom to the waist. Brooke swallowed hard and reminded herself that she was on a bit of a time crunch. She glanced over at Derek, relieved to see that he was lying quite still on the floor.

"Peyton, wake up," Brooke said urgently, but when Peyton did not respond, the brunette's panic grew more apparent. "Peyton, please! You have to get up!" she screamed hysterically.

Out of the corner of her eye, Brooke could see Derek stirring. Knowing that neither her nor Peyton had time to wait, Brooke grabbed hold of Peyton's wrists and pulled until the blonde was in a sitting 

position. Brooke knew that it would probably do physical harm to Peyton's body, but if she did nothing, then surely Derek would do far worse.

It was difficult, but Brooke managed to drag Peyton's body out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the bathroom. As she had pulled Peyton's body through the bathroom door, Brooke had seen Derek slumping in Peyton's doorway. Knowing he was weak, she shut the bathroom door, locked in, and hoped that he was no longer strong enough to break it down before someone came for help.

If anyone came for help at all.

Brooke stared at the door for several minutes, holding her breath, waiting for Derek to make some kind of move. But nothing came. No sudden bangs against the door. No furious yells. Nothing.

So finally, Brooke turned all of her attention to Peyton. The sight of the broken blonde brought on a whole new wave of tears. One of her thighs was already showing signs of potential bruising. Her pretty face had suffered numerous small cuts, a split lip, a badly bruised cheekbone, and a mild bloody nose. Her neck was sliced on one side, but not badly since the stream of blood that trickled from it was small. Her upper arms were decorated with several random bruises and cuts, and the knuckles of her right hand were badly scraped up. But the most noticeable injury, the one Brooke could not tear her eyes from, was the wide gash in her chest, just below her collarbone on the right side.

A stab wound.

Snapping out of her stupor, Brooke rushed to Peyton's side, moving into a sitting position behind Peyton and pulling her across her lap. She held onto her shoulders with one arm while her other hand went to the side of Peyton's face. Tears leaked steadily from Brooke's eyes as she silently stared down at her best friend. Her bottom lip quivered as she spoke. "Peyton, please wake up." Her voice no longer held any tone; it was a whisper, but it still contained just as much exigency. She shook Peyton gently. "Please, Peyton! You have to wake up!" She was pleading now. "You can't die, Peyton. You can't! I need you!"

The lack of response from the blonde caused Brooke's entire body to collapse into shakes. She leaned over Peyton and held her close, buried her face in her neck as she broke down into sobs. Peyton Sawyer was dying in her arms and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. The feeling was unlike any other. She felt so useless. So unworthy. By being unable to help, she was betraying her best friend whether it was intentional or not. It was overwhelming.

"Brooke."

Brooke lifted her head in an instant, staring down at Peyton so intensely she was sure that her eyes would burn a hole in the blonde's flesh. No way had that faint whisper been a figment of her imagination, and even if it was, Brooke refused to believe it. She waited with bated breath for Peyton to do something, anything to show that she was still there.

Then her eyes fluttered open, just a tiny bit, but enough to reveal those green orbs that Brooke loved so much. Brooke couldn't help the smile of relief that crossed her face. "Oh Peyton, thank god! I thought I'd lost you!" Brooke was quick to grab up Peyton's fragile hand in her own, and she held it gently.

"Brooke, I-"

Peyton's voice was frighteningly weak, Brooke had to strain her ears in order to hear it.

"Yea?"

"Brooke, I'm so-"

Peyton's words were interrupted by a loud banging on the bathroom door. Brooke jumped, obviously startled, and her head snapped up to watch the door shake and rattle.

"God damn it, Brooke! Open the door!"

Brooke didn't answer. She merely tightened her grasp on Peyton's ha nd. She noticed that Peyton's feeble grasp tightened a little, too.

"I know you're in there, Brooke!" Derek's voice was strong and unnerving. A shiver ran down Brooke's spine as she continued to watch the door with alert, fearful eyes. "Open the damn door!"

She still didn't say a word. The door shook again, and Brooke's eyes averted to the hinges. Would they hold? As Derek continued to beat at the door, Brooke began to doubt its strength. She did the only thing she could think to do. "I'll be right back," she whispered, placing a soft kiss on Peyton's hand before standing up and swiftly making her way to the door. She pressed her back up against it and dug her heels into the carpet of the rug on the floor. She knew that she wouldn't be able to secure the door for long, but she hoped it would be long enough for him to get weak, too weak to break down the door at all.

When Derek slammed his fists against the door again, Brooke shook along with the wood, and she closed her eyes tightly. He continued to yell with that unsettling, angry voice. "Go away!" Brooke finally screamed in return. She knew her words held no value to him, but she couldn't keep them at bay any longer.

He laughed. It was a laugh that shook her to the core.

And then something sliced right through the door. Brooke felt the cold metal penetrate her back, just to the inside of her shoulder blade. She screamed in pain and fell forward onto the floor. Her writhing lasted only a few minutes before the darkness took her and she passed out.


	2. Suddenly Everything Has Changed

**Hey guys! Thanks for reviewing! I was almost afraid that people would disregard it as just another Prom night fic. So thanks for giving it a chance! Hopefully chapter two won't disappoint. (:**

**And I apologize for the stall. I went camping this weekend and was forced into not being able to write. I'll try to get the next chaper up ASAP.**

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"_No! Get off me, please!"_

"_Don't pretend that you don't like it."_

"_Please, just stop! Just stop!"_

"_Not until you say it."_

"_No…please, let me go…"_

"_Say it."_

"_I c-can't…just stop…you're hurting me…"_

"_God damn it, Brooke, say it!"_

"_I lo-love you, D-Derek."_

"Brooke."

"_No, please, just get off!"_

"Brooke, wake up!"

Brooke suddenly sat bolt-upright, her eyes wide open and bloodshot. Instantly, she was overwhelmed with a pain in her back and her face contorted to fit the agony. The nurse was quick to gently push her back into a horizontal position, laying on her side in order to keep pressure off the wound on the back of her right shoulder. Brooke had fallen silent, but her fragile body shook incessantly and her eyes refused to blink. She just stared straight ahead, focused on nothing at all.

"You were dreaming, Brooke. You're safe now," the nurse tried to soothe the traumatized girl, but the attempt seemed fruitless since B rooke just continued to stare at the wall in silence.

Brooke had been at the hospital for two days, but for all she knew, it could have been two weeks, two months even. She didn't know when the police had arrived at the house. She wasn't aware that she and Peyton both were rushed to the hospital in separate ambulances. Because for two days, she had been 

completely unconscious. Just fifteen minutes ago, the nurses in the hall had heard the disturbance in Brooke's room. She had been screaming. It had taken a lot for the nurses to get her to wake up, but finally the teenager opened her hazel eyes. Her behavior was far from what they expected. The nurses had anticipated a melt down consisting of endless "Where am I?"s and "What happened?"s. But they got none. Brooke simply laid there in complete, utter silence as the nurses buzzed around her, checking her stats and her vitals, as was their duty. But once all the formalities were taken care of, one nurse in particular pulled a chair up to Brooke's bedside and sat down.

She was short and very skinny with taught, fair skin and bulgy blue eyes. Her hair was a dark honey color and was pulled up into a messy bun at the back of her head. She was probably in her late twenties, if that. The nametag on her chest read "Grace".

"Brooke, sweetie," she said with a gentle tone as she peered into Brooke's expressionless face. "Brooke, can you hear me?"

Brooke did not answer. She didn't so much as move, or even look at the nurse.

"Brooke, honey, if you can hear me, blink twice."

The brunette's eyes remained open and focused on the wall.

Grace sighed, defeated, before standing up and returning the chair to its proper place against the wall. Before exiting the room, the nurse stopped and looked over her shoulder at the still figure that was Brooke Davis. Her heart ached for the girl and everything she had been through. She wished that there was more she could do to help other than what she was required to do. Unable to think of anything, however, Grace released yet another sigh and left the room.

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"Who is here to see a… Miss Brooke Davis or a Miss Peyton Sawyer?" the doctor asked from the front of the waiting room. He turned his head when two young men and one young woman stood and made their way towards him. "Hello, I'm Doctor Harris, one of the residents of this hospital. I have updates on the conditions of your friends."

Lucas Scott, his brother Nathan, and Nathan's wife, Haley, waited with anticipation for the doctor continue.

"Miss Davis is still in Recovery. She has responded very well to the surgery and her punctured lung seems to be healing quite well. She actually woke up just twenty minutes ago."

The three teenagers were relieved to hear that Brooke was recovering, but even they knew that Brooke wasn't the one they need worry about.

"Miss Sawyer's condition is currently stable. We had to perform an emergency surgery on her this morning due to complications of the liver. "

With this news, Haley didn't hesitate to slip her hand into Lucas's and give it a reassuring squeeze. Poor Luke had been on edge since they'd received the call from the hospital, and Haley was sure that he hadn't slept a wink, despite what he told them. He was far too worried about his girlfriend to think about anything else.

"The surgery went smoothly, but Miss Sawyer will be staying in the ICU for at least three more nights. We are monitering her heart and her brain activity closely. We will be sure to let you know if anything happens, good or bad."

The doctor turned to leave, but Nathan stopped him with his strong, urgent voice. "Wait, can't we see Brooke?" he asked with admirable naivity. "You said she's awake, right?"

"Yes, you heard me correctly. Miss Davis _is _awake," the doctor replied. "But you may not see her."

"But why?"

"Are any of you related to Miss Davis?"

"Well no, but-"

"Then you may not see her. Only relatives are allowed to visit patients in Recovery. I am sorry. You'll have to come back when she is moved to the General Ward."

"But sir, please," Nathan continued. "Brooke's parents live on the other side of the country and she has no other family here," he explained, his tone revealed the fact that he was practically pleading with the doctor. "We _are_ her family."

Doctor Harris seemed to consider Nathan's words for a brief moment, then said, "Come back tomorrow. I'll see what I can do."

Nathan smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Doctor."

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"Miss Davis, we need your cooperation here, okay?"

Brooke remained silent in her place beneath the stiff blanket of the hospital bed. Like before, she was still laid on her side in order to avoid agitating her back. She had been awake for nearly six hours and still had not said a word to anyone. When the doctor had come to check on her brain activity with various 

tests of the eye and reflexes, he had deduced that there was nothing wrong with her mentally, that her lack of communication was not a result of her injuries. It was a choice.

Most of the nurses sympathized with Brooke. They understood her silence. They didn't push her to talk. It was their duty to maximize the comfort of their patients, so that's what they did. They went it, did what they needed to do, and as long as Brooke complied, their job was easy. If they asked her to sit up, she would without a fuss. If they needed to change her medication or her dosage, she didn't so much as bat an eyelash. She was completely passive. A ghost. And the nurses knew better than to tamper with her for now.

The police officers, however, were completely impatient and cold. It was as if they were unaware that the young woman they were talking to had just been viciously attacked. There was no concern in their faces. No compassion in their voices.

"Miss Davis, answer us," the second officer, Bouten, demanded.

"At what time did you return to Miss Sawyer's Saturday night?" pressed the first officer, Kelley.

Silence.

"Can you tell us where you found Ian Banks?"

"Or rather, where Banks found you?"

Officer Kelley was a stout man, probably no taller than Brooke, but much meatier. His hair was thinning and his bushy moustache was decorated with specks of grey. His fingers looked more like little sausages as they held a pen and pad at the ready. He had beady eyes that were almost black and seemed to dart between the blank notepad and Brooke, as if he were nervous.

Officer Bouten looked like a polar opposite to his partner. He was tall and lean, and anyone would assume that beneath his uniform awaited a very muscular and toned body. His dark hair was thick and cut short, his face clean shaven. Behind his silver framed spectacles were two alarmingly blue eyes. He was actually quite handsome.

But Brooke hadn't bothered to notice. In the ten minutes the two men had been there, she hadn't once taken her eyes off wall parallel to her bed. Despite what her silence might have suggested, however, she was listening. She had paid close attention to every word that had been said within ear shot of her room. She'd been listening to hear news about Peyton, to hear news about that blonde bastard. And as the officers spoke to her now, all she felt was anger and confusion; anger because they were so indifferent to her suffering; confusion because she had no idea who this Ian Banks was.

"In what condition was Miss Sawyer when you first saw her?"

As Brooke's eyes instantly began to well up with tears, she was thankful to hear one of the nurses come in and interrupt the two men in their interrogation.

"Alright, Officers, I think that's quite enough," the woman said with a hasty tone as she began shooing the men out of the room. "Obviously Miss Davis is in no condition to make a statement yet."

"But we need-"

"No!"

"Just a few more ques-"

"Out!"

Brooke heard the door to her room slam shut, and then there was silence.

Even though Brooke chose not to speak when there were people in her room, she hated being alone. When the nurses were buzzing around, she had something to concentrate on. Something to focus her thoughts on. Even when her door was open, she could busy herself with listening in on conversations taking place in the hallway. She could listen for any piece of vital information on Peyton's condition or the state of their attacker.

But when she was alone, and her door was closed, she had no choice but to pay attention to her own conscious. She was forced to recollect on what had happened to her. Forced to relive that night, over and over again. He was gone, and yet he still managed to attack her every time she closed her eyes. It was the most disturbing reality, knowing that no matter how safe she might be physically, her mind was eternally vulnerable. He could find her no matter how hard she tried to hide. She was never safe.

Within several minutes, Brooke's mind had wandered to the subject of her parents. Earlier, she had heard the doctor asking the nurses on the whereabouts of Mr. and Mrs. Davis. Brooke had nearly burst into laughter. Even if the hospital did manage to get a hold of her parents, she doubted that they would care, and even if they did, they wouldn't care enough to come all the way back to Tree Hill. They would most likely send a Get Well card. Maybe even flowers, if she was lucky, but even that was unlikely.

Then her thoughts found Larry Sawyer, and how much pain he would be in when he found out about Peyton. He would harbor enough concern and enough empathy to outweigh the Davis's ten times over. Brooke might have never said it out loud, but she envied Peyton. She had such wonderful, loving parents, even if one died ten years ago and the other was gone most of the time. At least they loved their daughter more than material things. Brooke would have given anything to grow up with parents that actually gave a shit.

But of course, the thought of Peyton's parents brought up Ellie, which eventually turned to him. Suddenly, his face invaded Brooke's mind and she shut her eyes tight in attempt to block him out. But he was still there. He was still hovering above her. His hands were still all over her body.

And then she was screaming again.

"Get off me, please!"

Two nurses rushed in immediately, one of which was Grace. She moved to Brooke's side and grasped her hand tightly. "Brooke, honey, wake up! You're safe."

The brunette slowly opened her eyes, but they were still full of terror. As the other nurse stuck a syringe into Brooke's IV and emptied its contents, Brooke looked at the nurse who was holding her hand and whispered with desperation, "I need to see Peyton." Grace simply nodded as Brooke's eyes fell closed and her grip on the nurse's hand loosened.

Once she was sure Brooke was out, Grace turned to her colleague and said with hope, "She spoke."

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**And there you have it folks. Hope you liked it.**

**I know, poor Brookie, right? **

**R&R. 3**


	3. Cold Day In the Sun

Back in the waiting room, Nathan and Haley sat side by side in two chairs, pressed together as tightly as the armrests would allow them. Lucas sat in the middle of the row of chairs across from the married couple. None of them had spoken a word since Doctor Harris had come to them with an update. Well, no words were spoken between the three of them, anyway. For the last hour, Nathan and Haley had been whispering back and forth, their glances fleeting between each other and Lucas. At one point, Nathan had gone to get coffee for himself and for Lucas, but Lucas had rejected the beverage. It now sat on the floor next to his feet, completely full and untouched.

"It's going to be okay, Lucas." Haley's voice was soft and not very convincing. Lucas didn't bother to look at her. Instead, he just continued to stare at the floor, like he had been for the last forty minutes or so.

"She's right, Luke," Nathan chimed in, his tone slightly more believable than his wife's. "They're both going to be fine. The doctor said so himself."

As much as Lucas wanted to, he just couldn't bring himself to be optimistic. The reason behind his silent brooding was completely his own. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought Peyton didn't want to go to Prom? Why had he left? If only he would have persisted, if only he would have went inside, he could have prevented this. He could have prevented all of it. If only he weren't such an awful boyfriend, Peyton wouldn't be laying in a hospital bed, struggling against the pain. And neither would Brooke. It was a reality that hurt more than anything Lucas had ever experienced. The knowledge that he could have stopped it from happening, but didn't, was almost too much to bear.

Just then, one of the nurses from the ICU appeared. All three teenagers looked up at her from their seats with bated breath. "They've decided to let you see Miss Davis," she said with a half smile on her face. It was hard to be even remotely happy, considering everything that had happened. "But she requested to see only Mrs. James-Scott."

Both Nathan and Haley looked at the nurse with confusion etched across their brows, but Lucas merely took up his previous position of staring at the ground. For some reason, he wasn't surprised.

"But why?" Nathan asked, the hurt and impatience evident in his voice.

The nurse shrugged. "She didn't say, but we must comply to the patient's wishes. You may not see her until she gives permission. I'm very sorry."

Haley nodded and, with the help of Nathan, stood up. No matter how much she may have loved being pregnant, Haley was sure that she would never get used to carrying around an extra eight pounds in her belly.

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Inside her room, Brooke waited impatiently for Haley to arrive. Although she didn't really express it, she was relieved to have her first visitor. But her guilt for denying Nathan and Lucas the chance to see her was a slightly more powerful emotion. She had no problem with Nathan. It was Lucas whom Brooke did not care to see. It was nothing personal, even though everything he had done to her would justify it if it was personal. But there was a reason for not wanting to see Luke that only Brooke would understand.

The tall, toned build. The blue eyes. The bright smile.

Lucas bore an uncanny resemblance to _him_, and Brooke just wasn't sure she could handle that right now. She'd forbidden herself to so much as think his name. How was she supposed to block him out when there was another man in the room that looked just like him?

That was why Brooke requested not to see Lucas, and she lumped Nathan with him in hopes that it wouldn't seem quite as bad. If Lucas wasn't singled out, it would be easier for him to accept. Besides, it was reasonable for Brooke to only want one visitor. Even more reasonable to want that one visitor to be her best friend and the only girl.

Brooke was interrupted from her worrying when a short, pregnant figure walked into the room. Haley paused in the doorway, taking a moment to absorb the sight of her friend lying in the hospital bed. The nurse had told her to prepare herself and Haley had tried, but there was something about seeing Brooke like that. So quiet with such a pained look on her face. She hardly looked like Brooke at all. At least, not the bouncy, bubbly Brooke that Haley knew.

The brunette watched as Haley came further into the room and pulled a chair up to Brooke's bedside. "Hey you." Her voice was soft and gentle, just as it always was. She offered Brooke the smallest of friendly smiles. But Brooke did not return it. Instead, she just stared at Haley with her watering, hazel eyes. Haley was quick to find Brooke's hand on the bed and she held it tightly in attempt to offer her some kind of comfort. "Hey, don't do that," Haley insisted but her tone was still sweet as honey. She reached over with her other hand to wipe away the solitary tear that fell from Brooke's eye. "You're safe, Brooke," she whispered. "We're all here for you. You're going to be fine."

Brooke appreciated Haley's attempt to cheer her up, but she wasn't worried about herself. She was worried about the blonde down the hall. She was the one who might not be fine.

"I'm scared, Haley."

Brooke's voice was so quiet that Haley had to strain her ears to hear it. She responded quickly by giving her hand a squeeze and shaking her head. "You don't need to be, Brooke. You're safe."

Brooke just shook her head and closed her tearful eyes. "I'm scared for Peyton."

Suddenly Brooke's apprehension became very clear to Haley, and she wasn't exactly sure how to respond to it. Her brain sought furiously through her thoughts in search of anything that would be appropriate to say. "We spoke to Doctor Harris this morning," she began with a hopeful tone. "He said she was stable. That's a good thing, Brooke. I'm sure she'll be okay. Just like you'll be okay."

Once again, Brooke responded by shaking her head. She knew all of this. The nurses had told her the exact same thing. It wasn't comforting. They didn't say it was bad, but they didn't say it was good, either. They didn't say she was going to die, but they didn't she was going to live.

"What if she dies, Haley?" Brooke wasn't at all surprised to her voice crack and just like that, the flood was released. The tears poured freely down her cheeks and sobs instantly began wracking her body. "What if she never wakes up? What if that bastard hurt her so badly she'll never recover?" Brooke was basically shouting at this point. It was obvious she had broken down into hysterics. She was also somewhat sitting up now, propped up on one of her elbows while her other hand swung dangerously about as she spoke. "Do you know if I were only a few minutes quicker, I could have stopped it. If only I hadn't taken so long in the basement, I could have saved her. I could have stopped him from hurting her. But now she's going to die because I wasn't fast enough. It's all my fault."

As Brooke broke into a quiet, but still frantic, chant of "it's my fault", Haley stood and moved to sit next to Brooke on the bed. She was careful not to irritate her wound as she wrapped her arms around the brunette's frail body. Brooke instantly gave into the embrace and sank into Haley's body, her head falling onto Haley's chest. Haley stroked Brooke's hair softly with one hand and whispered soft "shhs" into her ear. Her own eyes began leaking silent tears. Her heart ached for Brooke. How could she blame herself for this awful occurrence? The blame belonged to no one but Derek. Surely Brooke had to know that.

After several minutes, two nurses walked slowly into the room to find Haley rocking a now silent Brooke back and forth. "We saw the inconsistency with her heart rate and thought we'd check to make sure everything was alright," one of the nurses explained. Haley only nodded and the nurses apparently understood, since they left just as quickly as they'd come.

Haley continued to rock Brooke slowly, steadily, for another ten minutes or so before she could tell by Brooke's breathing that she had fallen asleep. Unwilling to let go, Haley leaned back against Brooke's head pillows, pulling the brunette with her, her head still on Haley's chest. She was thankful that she had managed to help Brooke calm down, but she could feel that Brooke's body was still tense, which meant she was not sleeping peacefully. Haley couldn't help but wonder if Brooke would experience a serene night's rest ever again.

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"Doctor, exactly how extensive are Miss Sawyer's injuries?" Grace's voice was soft but urgent as she spoke with Doctor Harris. Ever since Brooke had whispered that request, she had decided to do everything she could to get the brunette in to see her friend. Of course, the chances were slim if Peyton's condition would not allow for visitors. Some patients were so fragile that even the slightest accident, a simple bump of the hospital bed, could be detrimental. Grace hoped this was not the case 

with Peyton, not only because it would be a tragedy, but because she sincerely cared for Brooke and wanted nothing more than to grant her wishes.

The doctor hesitated for a few second, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet awkwardly. "In all honesty, Grace," he started, staring intensely into Grace's big blue eyes. "It's not good." Those were the exact words Grace didn't want to hear. She sighed with sadness, but did not say anything. Simply waited for the doctor to continue. "She suffered far too many wounds for a delicate body like hers to handle. We're lucky Miss Davis found her when she did." Doctor Harris turned to leave, but Grace reached out quickly and caught his elbow, forcing him to face her.

"With all due respect, Doctor," she started. "You haven't answered my question."

Doctor Harris's eyes grew dark with grief. He reached one of his strong hands up to his face and removed his spectacles. "Miss Sawyer is currently on a ventilator – it is the only thing keeping her breathing. The deep gash in her chest tore straight through the muscle, fractured two of her ribs, and punctured her right lung. The damage done was far worse than that done to Miss Davis." He wasn't looking at Grace as he spoke. Instead, he was looking above her, as if reading the words off a marquee somewhere above her head. "She took an awful blow to the back of her head, which has caused her brain to swell. Hence, her comatose state. We managed to relieve the pressure by drilling a small hole on either side of her skull, just behind the ear. This procedure was not done in time, however, to prevent her liver from failing, a problem which we may or may not have remedied this morning in an emergency surgery. Her left wrist has been shattered and the fingers on her right hand are a mangled mess. The word 'justice' was carved into the skin of her upper back." Finally, the doctor looked back down at Grace, a hard, sorrowful expression visible on his face. "All of these plus the numerous cuts and bruises that adorn her body are reasons why there is a good chance Miss Sawyer will not be waking up." He paused for a moment and returned the spectacles to their spot on the bridge of his nose. "Have I answered your question, Miss Taylor?"

Grace was somewhat in shock, staring up at the man she idolized so devoutly. A few tears had fallen from her celestial eyes and had left dark trails in their wake. Unable to say anything at all, she simply nodded, but immediately began shaking her head. It was difficult to believe that one man could do all that. That any person could be that heartless and cold, to inflict such endless pain on such a beautiful, innocent creature. And not only was the pain physical, but no doubt it was emotional as well. In fact, Grace was sure that if Peyton ever did wake up, the mental agony would far surpass that of any of her physical injuries. She had been tortured, it was as simple as that.

"Oh, and Grace." Grace didn't even realize that her head had fallen and that she was now staring at the ground. She looked back up at the doctor, wondering what else he could possibly tell her. "Don't tell Miss Sawyer's friends about the seriousness of her condition," he said with a stern, authoritative tone. "Especially not Miss Davis. We'll give everyone a couple of days before breaking even worse news to them."

Grace nodded, but disagreed with his notion. Friends and family members held the right to know what was going on with their loved ones. Shoving the thought aside, however, Grace reached up to wipe away 

the lingering tears in the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, Doctor," was all she managed to choke out, before brushing passed him and disappearing into the nurses' lounge.

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Brooke lay on her side, her eyes staring blankly at the wall across from her. She was unconsciously rubbing her right wrist, which was purple and green with bruises. Haley had left quite some time ago, before Brooke had woken up. The nurses explained that since she technically was not supposed to be there, they could not give her as much time as was normal for visiting hours. Brooke was saddened to wake up alone, but quickly got over it when her thoughts turned back to Peyton.

Now, her ears could not help but pick up the conversation going on in the hall outside her room. They left her door ajar. They weren't the slightest bit aware that she could hear every word they exchanged. Her ears were alert and it seemed as though they were extra sensitive due to the topic of their conversation. She was able to hear a sound as faint as Grace's sigh.

But as they continued, Brooke almost wished she could go deaf. In an instant, just lose her ability to hear, because the words that met her ears made her heart physically ache.

"_There is a good chance Miss Sawyer will not be waking up."_

The words were playing over and over in her head, like a broken record player, stuck on the worst part of a song. She wasn't going to wake up. Her P. Sawyer was going to die all alone in a hospital bed, completely unaware of how much pain she was going to inflict on everyone she would leave behind. The thought was so unbearably heavy that Brooke was sure she was going to suffocate. She was crying silently by the time the doctor and the nurse went separate ways outside. Her breathing was ragged and completely uneven. The strain was causing an immense amount of pain somewhere in the top of her chest, but Brooke was numb to it. All she could feel was the ache in her heart. The pain in knowing that her best friend was dying and the harsh reality that there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

Just moments after Brooke had began to cry, two more nurses ran in, just in time, too, considering Brooke's body suddenly began flailing as she gasped painfully for air. She clutched at her chest with one hand while the other squeezed a handful of sheets between her stark white fingers. Instantly and expertly, the nurses took action. One injected Brooke's IV with yet another sedative while the other adjusted the bed into its horizontal position. The sedative was effective almost immediately; Brooke was no longer thrashing about, but she continued to struggle for breath. She was then struck with a coughing fit and after about ten seconds, she slumped back against her pillows. Her eyes fell closed and a thick red liquid leaked from the corner of her mouth and the room was abruptly filled with a loud, high-pitched beep being emitted from the heart monitor.

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**There you have chapter three. Hope you don't hate me too much for the nasty cliff hanger. d:  
Chapter four is on its way! Thanks for sticking with it! (:**


	4. What It Is To Burn

**Alright guys, chapter four, brought to you by yours truly. Enjoy, my pets. (:**

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"Shit, she's coding," muttered the nurse with the syringe. She quickly discarded it, tossing it carelessly onto the metal tray of medical tools beside the bed. She reached over Brooke to push the blue button on the wall behind the bed. "Someone get Harris!" the nurse yelled in the direction of the door as she and the other nurse prepared Brooke's bed for transport to the emergency room.

Doctor Harris entered the room just as quickly as he was called for. "What happened?" he demanded of the nurses.

"When we came in, she was crying and then she started having trouble breathing. We pushed 50 ccs Pheno to relax her body, but she had a coughing attack and collapsed."

The nurse explained all of this whilst she and the other nurse moved hastily to get the hospital gown off of Brooke's upper body so her chest was revealed. The doctor swiftly took his place beside Brooke's bed and took both paddles into his hands. "Charge one hundred," he said and as he listened to the humming's pitch get higher, he looked down at Brooke and whispered, "Don't let go yet, Brooke."

"Clear." Doctor Harris placed the paddles strategically on Brooke's chest and sent the charge. The brunette's body lurched upward, but the high-pitched screech from the heart monitor persisted.

"Two hundred." He listened, waited, then returned the paddles to Brooke's chest. "Clear."

Again, Brooke's lifeless body arched into the charge paddles. The doctor and nurses watched the heart monitor apprehensively. Brooke continued to flatline.

"Three hundred." Just as Doctor Harris moved to shock Brooke again, the heart monitor's screech deceased and was replaced with a slow but steady beep. He sighed and lowered the paddles. "We got her. Prep her for surgery and get her to the OR immediately," he ordered the nurses before leaving the room.

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Karen entered her home through the kitchen and was slightly taken aback to see Lucas sitting at the dining table. He hadn't been home much in the last couple of days; he was always at either the hospital and or at Nathan and Haley's. Karen's heart broke at the sight of her hurting son. He hadn't heard her come in. He was sitting with his back to her, leaning forward over the table so his head was buried in the 

encasing created by his arms. She hated seeing him like this, so distraught and so concerned for someone else that he forgot about his own well being. Karen understood that he was worried about Peyton, but she wished that he wouldn't take it out on himself like this. It wasn't what Peyton would have wanted, and not in the least bit healthy.

Sighing softly, Karen stepped passed Lucas and sat across from him. For a brief moment, Karen believed her son to be asleep, considering he still hadn't seemed to notice her. But she heard him sniff softly, which told her that he was very much awake.

"Lucas." Her voice was soft, gentle, that of a mother.

Lucas jerked up, completely caught off guard by his mother's sudden appearance. Karen could see the traces of fallen tears on his flushed cheeks. She could see the impending tears that glazed over his vulnerable blue eyes.

At the sight of his mother, Lucas lost it and began to silently weep. He returned his head to his arms, instantly hiding his face.

"Oh, Luke."

Karen moved her chair around the table until she was sitting right next to him. She lifted her hand and placed it softly on his muscular back and dragged her fingers across his shoulders comfortingly

Lucas turned in his chair so that he could fall into his mother's waiting arms. Karen held him close to her, for once not taking notice of how large her son was in comparison to her and her petite body. Despite their drastic differences in size, the embrace was not awkward at all. It never was.

"Has something happened?" Karen asked cautiously, fearing the worst. She was relieved, however, when Lucas shook his head in the negative. "How is she?"

A violent sob shook Lucas's body and he struggled momentarily to compose himself. After about a minute or so, he sat up and wiped the tears off his face. Karen was glad to see that he'd stopped crying.

"The doctor said she's stable," Lucas began to explain. "He she had to have an emergency surgery this morning. Because of her liver. They didn't give us details."

He paused briefly and dropped his gaze down to his hands, which were resting on the table. He picked at the cuticle of his thumb.

"She's still in the ICU. Still unconscious. They don't know when to expect her to wake up."

Karen sighed again and reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Lucas responded by grasping onto that hand and squeezing it as if it were his lifeline, the only thing keeping him sane.

"Can you see her?"

Lucas shook his head. "No, visitors aren't allowed in the ICU. And even if she wasn't I might not be able to see her until she's moved the General Ward because I'm 'not family'." Lucas used air quotes to mimic the doctor's words.

"But surely they can make some kind of exception," Karen countered, shaking her head in disbelief. He was the girl's boyfriend, for goodness' sake. "I mean, she has no family here."

Lucas nodded. "Yea that's what we told them about Brooke, too. They let Haley see her today."

Karen furrowed her brow in confusion. "They let Haley see her, but not you?" she inquired with an almost offended tone of voice. "And not Nathan?"

Lucas shook his head. "No, Brooke requested to see only Haley." He still sounded passive about it, as if he'd expected nothing less.

Karen nodded, finding some kind of understanding in the fact that it was Brooke who chose not to see the boys and not the hospital administration. She definitely would have had a problem with that. But she could understand why Brooke wouldn't want to see men at this stage of her recovery.

She turned her attention back to her son and noticed that his face had fallen even more " than before. "She'll be okay, Luke."

"Yea but what if she won't be, Mom?" He wasn't looking at her. Instead, his gaze was focused on the tabletop.

"What if she doesn't wake up? What if she dies before I ever get the chance to see her again? Before I get the chance to tell her how much she means to me?"

"You can't think like that, Lucas. You need to have faith that she'll wake up."

"Well what if she does wake up and she's all alone? And scared? I should be there for her but I can't."

"If she wakes up, I'm sure they'll let you see her."

"What if she's not the same person? What if she stops being Peyton?"

Karen bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from sobbing. Her son was falling apart in front of her and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop it.

They sat in silence, the only sound being that of Lucas's uneven breathing and frequent snivels.

Then the phone rang. It was already sitting on the table in front of them, as if Lucas had been waiting for it to ring.

"Hello?"

"_Is this Lucas Scott?"_

"Yes it is."

"_My name is Grace. I work at Tree Hill Memorial. I'm one of Brooke's nurses."_

"Okay." Lucas could not hide the trepidation in his voice. Karen sat up a little straighter.

"_We were told to inform you of any news concerning Miss Davis and Miss Sawyer."_

"Right."

"_Well, Brooke just got out of an emergency surgery. Shortly after Mrs. James-Scott left, Brooke had a sort of coughing fit."_

Lucas listened intently, but could not help but let his gaze find his mother's. Each could see how worried the other was.

"_The strain caused the seal of her punctured lung to rip and she went into cardiac arrest."_

"Oh my god, is she okay?" Without realizing it, Lucas found Karen's hand with his own and held it tightly.

"_Yes, we got her into surgery and reset the seal, but not before her lung flooded. The draining process is cumbersome and is hard on the body. Brooke is strong, though. She's already awake, but she's on a ventilator and is unable to talk."_

Karen raised her eyebrows, posing the silent question to Lucas. He shook his head and Karen released a sigh of relief.

"Can we see her?" Lucas asked with only little hope.

"_I'm sorry, Lucas. Brooke has not yet given us permission to let you see her, so you cannot."_

"Well, what about my mom?"

"_I'm not sure how app-"_

"Listen, I don't care who sees her, as long as she's not alone. Besides, my mom is the closest thing Brooke has to a decent mother. If anyone should be allowed to see her, it should be her."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, before Grace answered, _"I'll see what I can do."_

"Thanks Grace."

Lucas ended the call and set the phone back down on the table. "Will you see her, Mom?" He wasn't sure why he doubted that she would, but for some reason he feared that she might not want to.

"Of course, Lucas."

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Grace entered Brooke's room quietly, hoping not to startle the girl. It was comforting to hear the heart monitor beeping with a steady rhythm. Brooke, however, looked a little worse for the wear. She looked truly miserable, lying there with a tube shoved down her throat, unable to sleep without the assistance of a sedative. Grace had seen many patients come through this ward, but she'd never pitied one quite as much as she pitied Brooke. It was such a tragedy.

"Brooke, sweetie," she said gently, approaching the side Brooke's bed. She leaned down and looked into the girl's emotionless hazel eyes. "Can you hear me?"

Brooke nodded feebly.

"Listen, I called your friend Lucas."

Brooke's eyes shifted to look at Grace, no longer emotionless, but full of fear. She couldn't see Lucas. Not like this. Not yet.

"Would you be alright with his mother coming in to visit?"

Brooke took a deep breath and let her eyes fall closed with relief. She felt silly for feeling so terrified to see a person who had once meant so much to her. But she couldn't help her fear. She couldn't deny the horrifying memories that invaded her mind every time she thought of Lucas, which always turned to thoughts of _him_.

"Brooke?"

Brooke did not open her eyes, but simply nodded her head. Karen was someone she was always happy to see.

Grace smiled, glad to see that Brooke was up for visitors. "Alright, I'll let them know."

Brooke nodded again, but winced immediately afterward due to the pain it induced in her throat. The tube was far from comfortable. Ever since she'd woken up about an hour ago, Brooke had been struggling to get used to the intrusion of her airway. It was awkward and painful and she wanted nothing more than to pull it out. As a matter of fact, when she first woke up, she did attempt to pull it out. She'd woken up in frenzy, unsure of what had happened and where she was. She had recognized her surroundings almost immediately, but that hadn't taken her mind off the foreign object in her throat. It took the nurses rushing in and giving her a sedative for the pain to calm Brooke down. They explained to her exactly what had happened, and for the last half hour, Brooke had lied in bed dwelling on the realization that she had died. She wondered if the concept had fully sunken into her consciousness, considering she hadn't freaked out. Wouldn't any normal, sane person be bewildered to hear that they had died and had been resuscitated? For some reason, though, Brooke seemed perfectly unphased by it.

After much thought, Brooke came to the conclusion that her indifference on the issue was due to the fact that she no longer cared. She didn't care if she lived or died, because frankly, she felt that there was little left to live for. Sure, she had her clothing line and the few true friends she'd managed to hold onto, but that was about it. She had no family – at least, none that qualified as family. She had no great love interest. Not even a prospect. But most effectively, she had no Peyton.

Along with her virtue and self-esteem, _he_ had stolen her soul. Her passion. Her will to live.

It was a devastating thought, and yet, Brooke was not devastated.

She no longer cared.

Brooke's eyes averted to the door when she heard a soft knocking. It was Karen. Brooke was sure that even if she could, she wouldn't be smiling.

Karen entered the room slowly, cautiously, and pulled up the chair that everyone used while visiting Brooke. She took a seat and took a moment to just let the sight in front of her sink in. But as the seconds ticked by, Brooke began to get desperate for Karen to break the silence. It was beginning to strangle her.

"Hi Brooke," she said softly, putting extra effort into keeping her voice from sound melancholy. She wanted to sound optimistic, if not for her own sake, then for Brooke's.

The nurses had told Karen not to touch Brooke, not to get too close in fear that she might mess up the alignment of one of the machines. But Karen could not restrain herself. She placed her hand on the bed beside Brooke and took Brooke's hand in her own. It was a small gesture of comfort, but it was better than nothing. Karen was encouraged, though, when she felt Brooke give her hand a tiny, almost unnoticeable squeeze.

Karen struggled to think of something to say. Anything to talk about to break the silence. What did one say to someone who had been through such a traumatizing ordeal? She had been violated in the worst kind of way and Karen couldn't but be at a loss for words and she suddenly doubted Lucas for ever putting her up to this. Of course she was happy to see Brooke. She was always willing to offer a helping hand whenever she could. But now, staring at Brooke in her state of brokenness, she felt completely and utterly useless.

"I'm sorry Brooke, I don't know what to say."

Brooke took her eyes off of Karen and stared up at the ceiling. She wished so bad that she could say something, just for the sake of eliminating the silence.

"I don't get quite as much gossip at the café as you kids get at the school."

Karen immediately regretted saying that, considering it was a completely pointless and stupid comment to make. She felt that this was going badly. Brooke was still staring at the ceiling, as if she hadn't heard Karen at all.

"You know, I heard the nurses saying that they'd let you see Peyton as soon as you're well enough," Karen said suddenly, remembering the conversation she'd overheard in the hall. She was sure the subject of seeing Peyton would cheer up Brooke, even if only a little bit.

Just as Karen had hoped, Brooke returned her attention back to Karen. She could see the hope in the young woman's eyes.

"So if that's not incentive for you to get better, then I don't know what is." Karen smiled softly and gave Brooke's hand a squeeze.

Another couple of moments passed in silence, during which Brooke's gaze had, at some point, wandered back to the roof.

"I promise to come prepared with as much gossip and news as possible next time."

She got no response from Brooke.

"Listen, Brooke. I know things seem dark right now, like things will never be the same." Karen had been fighting the urge to give the inspirational speech as soon as she'd walked through the door. But now her desperation for something to say was getting the better of her. "And that might be true, but things will get better. They'll get easier. You'll heal. You'll get up out of this hospital bed and you'll walk out of here and back into your life."

Karen paused for a few brief seconds and took her eyes off of Brooke. She instead stared down at the floor. "And Peyton will, too." She only hoped it was the truth. "You'll both get through this together." She raised her head and looked back at Brooke. "You have to believe you'll get through this, and you will." She felt like she was back in her kitchen, giving Lucas the same speech. She knew the situation was bleak, but she couldn't help but wonder why all the teenagers seemed so very pessimistic. Sometimes optimism was all one needed to make it through.

As Karen watched Brooke's face intently, she saw several tears escape the corners of her eyes, which were still focused on the ceiling.

"Oh, Brooke. Don't cry, honey," Karen insisted as she stood up and leaned carefully over Brooke to get a better look at her. "That can't be good for you right now." She reached up and wiped a few of the tears away with a quick sweep of her thumb.

"You're going to be alright, okay?" She said, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on the girl's flushed forehead. "I'll come back to see you as soon as I can. I promise."

Unable to say anything, Brooke just squeezed Karen's hand again, hoping that her message would be received.

"I promise," Karen repeated with raw sincerity, before letting go of Brooke's hand and exiting the room.

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"How'd it go?" Lucas stood immediately as soon as he saw his mother return to the waiting room.

"Oh, it was awful."

"Why? Is everything okay?"

"No. She's so broken and lost, Lucas. It broke my heart just to look at her."

Lucas pulled Karen into a hug and rubbed her back gently. If it was that painful for his mom to see Brooke, Lucas was sure he wouldn't be able to hold himself together at all when it came time for him to see Peyton.

"You think she'll be okay, right?" Lucas asked with a noticeable hint of fear in his voice.

Karen pulled away from the hug so she could look up into her son's face. "I honestly don't know, Luke," she answered, wishing she could say something more positive. But she didn't want to lie to him. "All we can do is be here for her. For both of them. And pray that they'll be okay."

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**Sorry this one seems to kind of just… end. But I felt it was the best place to stop it.  
What to look forward to next time: Peyton! Yay, P. Sawyer! Even if she's in one of those tacky hospital gowns…**

**Thanks for staying tuned, guys! And I looooove reviews, so any comments would be greatly appreciated! (:**


	5. They Looked Like Strong Hands

**Hey everyone! Let me apologize profusely for taking so long to update. I've been having trouble with Word and actually haven't been able to even write for a couple of weeks. But I finally figured out an alternative, and it should be smooth sailing from here on out. Again, I'm so sorry for the delay!**

**Chaptah five, y'all. ¡Disfruta!**

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"Brooke, there's someone here to see you."

The brunette turned her head to look at Grace, standing in the doorway of her new room. Just three days after her emergency surgery, Doctor Harris had proclaimed Brooke well enough to be moved into the General Ward. She was given a single room, as requested. Most patients tended to perk up after moving out of Recovery or the ICU, but Brooke was not one of them. Even with the sunshine that poured through the open windows illuminating her face, she still looked like a ghost.

Technically, Brooke was now allowed to be seen by whoever wanted to visit her, but the nurses were still considerate enough to get the okay from Brooke before bringing anyone in. Since she'd been moved just a few hours ago, she'd already been visited by Karen (who had come bearing edible gifts from the café), Bevin (to whom Brooke said barely three words since the perky blonde did nothing but talk and talk without end), and Haley – actually, she'd been visited by the mother-to-be twice in the last two hours. Brooke suspected her hovering had something to do with her developing maternal instincts.

But Brooke still refused to see Lucas, no matter how long he'd been hanging around the waiting room in hopes of her changing her mind.

"Who is it?" Brooke asked indifferently. She'd been rid of the ventilator for just under twelve hours, but her feeble, raspy voice illustrated the pain her throat had been forced to endure.

"A Mister Chase Adams."

Brooke's heart stopped, and she momentarily feared that she might go into another cardiac arrest.

Why the hell did Chase want to see her? Was he coming here voluntarily? Maybe it was a bet, or a dare. Surely he wouldn't come here by choice. The last time Brooke spoke to him, he'd wanted nothing to do with her.

"Shall I tell him you're not up for visitors?"

Brooke bit down on her bottom lip as she contemplated the pros and cons of the situation. In fact, it was the most thinking she'd done in the last couple of days. For hours on end, she had just laid in bed in silence, passing the time by counting the ruffles in the window shams or trying to remember the lyrics to every song on the most recent cd she'd acquired from Peyton. Anything to keep her mind from drifting back to that night, back to the reason she was here in the first place.

"Um, no, it's okay. He can come in."

Grace's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She hadn't expected Brooke to grant the boy permission. She had, after all, allowed only girls in to see her. She couldn't help but wonder what made this boy different. Or perhaps it wasn't this Chase who was different. Maybe she'd misread Brooke when the girl had requested to see only Haley those several days ago. Perhaps she had no problem with seeing boys. Perhaps she had a problem with seeing only a particular boy.

Never the less, Grace smiled and nodded compliantly, before exiting the room. In just a few minutes, a dark-haired boy stood in the doorway. He stared across the threshold at Brooke, who lay in her bed staring back at him.

Brooke had absolutely no idea what to say, if she should say anything at all. This was Chase. This was the boy who had decided not to give Brooke any more chances after discovering just how promiscuous she was. Or rather, how promiscuous she used to be. How was she supposed to behave around him? What the hell was she supposed to say? And good Lord, how long was he going to just stand there in the doorway, just staring at her?

Several moments passed in painful silence. Brooke had turned the relentless staring into a game, a competition, since she had nothing better to do while she waited for Chase to make a move. But eventually, Chase slowly stepped into the room, his hands buried in the depths of his jacket pockets.

He didn't say anything until he was standing at the foot of Brooke's bed.

"Brooke, I'm so sor-"

"Don't apologize, Chase," Brooke interrupted him before he could finish. It was only then that she looked away, and took up gazing out the windows again. "All I've heard in the last six days is how sorry everyone is. I'm tired of it."

She didn't mean to sound so bitter, but she couldn't help it. Besides, what did people expect?

"Oh, sorry."

Brooke's head turned to look back at him. Chase's eyes widened, his mouth slightly parted, and he looked down at his feet. He looked so awkward, so undeniably uncomfortable. It almost evoked pity, but sympathy was an emotion that Brooke had lost at some point in the last week or so. She no longer related to compassion.

"Well, what are people supposed to say then, Brooke?"

The question caught the brunette off guard. Her eyebrows pulled together in bewilderment as she continued to watch Chase.

"'Sucks you got attacked, feel better soon'?"

The sheer insensitivity in his voice shocked her. Suddenly Brooke was wondering what had happened to the sweet, adorable Chase she'd so heavily crushed on just a few weeks ago. Where was he when she needed him?

Chase dropped his gaze from Brooke's, and only then did he pull his hands out of his pockets to set them on the metal frame at the foot of the bed.

"I'm not apologizing for what happened to you, Brooke," he said cautiously, but sternly. His eyes remained downcast. "I'm apologizing for the way I acted before. I shouldn't have judged you like that." Chase shook his head, criticizing himself and his stupid actions. "It was a thing of the past, and that's where it should stay."

Chase finally looked up and found Brooke's gaze. He could see the pain in her hazel eyes and wanted nothing more than to take it all away.

"I don't care about the person that you were, Brooke Davis," he said, the smallest of smiles crossing his lips. He tried not to be discouraged when Brooke didn't smile back. "I care about the person that you are."

Brooke took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. They were the exact words she'd wanted - no, needed - to hear from him. But they were just a week too late.

"Don't get your hopes up, Chase," she said quietly, and not because of the labor it took just to talk. "I'm not the person I was when you decided to give me a chance." Her voice was becoming shaky, and Chase could see the turmoil her words were putting her through. "I'm not a person you'll like, not even a person who deserves you."

Her ammunition of tears seemed endless, since she once again began to silently cry.

Chase shook his head and immediately moved to the side of Brooke's bed. Her eyes were to busy leaking tears to notice his movement, so when Chase reached out for her hand, Brooke was obviously caught off guard. As soon as she felt his fingers around hers, she jerked her hand away and wept harder, instinctively pulling her knees up to her chest and turning her head away from Chase.

She didn't want to pull away from him. She didn't want to discourage his actions by making it seem like she didn't want him to hold her hand. She didn't want him to think that she did not want him. But she couldn't help but retreat. There had only been one man she'd seen since waking up in the hospital, only one man who she had allowed to touch her, and that was her doctor. Chase was a first for many reasons. She didn't want to be scared, but she was.

"Brooke." Chase's voice was gentle, almost pained even, as if seeing her like this cut him to the core. The emotional ache was reflected in his eyes. "I won't hurt you."

A sob wracked Brooke's fragile body. She wanted to believe him, she really did. But trust was yet another thing she found difficult to put what little faith had left in.

Chase chewed softly on his bottom lip, his mind working in overdrive to think of something to do, anything to comfort Brooke. He longed to reach out and touch her shoulder, to wrap his arm around her and pull her to him so she could cry into his chest. He wanted to protect her.

She was broken. He wanted to fix her.

"I want to help you, Brooke."

Brooke caught the desperation in his tone. It slowed the steady flow of tears from her eyes, but did not stop it. Then she felt his hand on her shoulder, soft and light. Her instincts made her shrug it off. She squeezed her eyes closed tight, burying her face in the crook of her arm, which was still wrapped around the top of her knees.

"Please leave."

Her voice was quiet and shaky, barely above a whisper. Chase's brows furrowed. He wasn't sure if he'd heard her correctly. The hand she'd just shrugged off her shoulder returned to the depths of the front pocket of his jacket, but he didn't move to leave.

"Just go, please."

There was no mistaking it that time. She wanted him to leave, and as much as he wanted to stay, he would comply to her request. He knew better than to argue.

Chase's bottom lip quivered slightly as he watched Brooke cry helplessly into her own arms. His expression was the epitome of defeat as he turned and left the room, his feet dragging against the linoleum.

xxxxxxxxxx

The buzzing coming from his back pocket caused Lucas to stop in the middle of preparation for the free throw shot he was about to make. He held the ball in one hand while the other retrieved his cell phone and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"_Hey Lucas."_

Lucas abandoned the basketball and made his way to the side of the Rivercourt, taking a seat on the bottom-most bleacher. "Hi Chase." His eyes focused on the blacktop of the basketball court. "How was she?"

"_Worse than I expected. She's being so hard on herself."_

"Of course she is. Haley said she blames herself for what happened to Peyton."

"_What happened to Peyton? Is she completely unconcerned with what happened to herself?"_

"She cares about Peyton more. If she doesn't wake up, Brooke will never forgive herself."

Lucas's voice shook with that last sentence. He leaned forward and propped his elbows up on his knees. He let his head fall into his free hand.

"But what else? Did she say anything new?"

"_I don't know. She cried when I touched her… It made me feel like a monster."_

"Don't take it personally, Chase. It's not you she's pulling away from."

The lump in his throat was difficult to swallow, making it hard to breathe. His mother had figured it out. She realized why Brooke didn't want to see Lucas or Nathan - or more so, why she didn't want to see Lucas. After hearing it, Luke wished he hadn't. He felt better when he'd thought it was just because he was a male. But because he resembled Derek? That one hurt. He wanted to be there for his friend, but he couldn't because of a reason that beyond his control, a reason he was born with. It was horribly painful and even more aggravating.

"_I want to be there for her, Luke, but I don't know how."_

"I know exactly what you mean."

He drew in a shaky breath before pulling the phone away from his ear and snapping it closed. He really did relate to Chase. There were so many things he wanted, so many things that seemed so close but that he couldn't quite reach. It made him feel hopeless.

Standing abruptly, Lucas bounded a few steps toward the basketball and kicked it as hard as he could. He didn't bother to watch as it soared through the air and landed with a splash in the bay.

xxxxxxxxxx

She'd argued against having to be pushed in a wheelchair, but had given up surprisingly easy, considering she was Brooke Davis and all. But the fact that she was going to see Peyton for the first time in a week had her normally strong will as viscous as water.

"Please keep in mind, Brooke, that seeing her isn't going to make you feel better," Grace warned from her position behind the wheelchair.

Brooke just nodded her head, keeping her eyes straight ahead as they made their way to the Intensive Care Unit.

She'd heard the warnings time and time again. She knew that Peyton's condition was far from okay. She'd listened to the conversations, asked questions, milked the nurses for any kind of information. She knew this was going to be hard, but she was ready.

And despite what Grace told her, she _was_ happy to finally be seeing Peyton. It's what she needed.

It seemed like it had taken hours to get from the General Ward to the ICU and by the time they rolled up to the door behind which her best friend was waiting, Brooke was fidgeting with anticipation. To her great dismay, Grace paused and stepped around to the front of the wheelchair so Brooke could see her.

"You're sure, Brooke?"

"Positive, Grace. Thank you," Brooke replied cordially.

Grace just sighed, wishing that the girl would change her mind. But she was not going to force her. She'd worked hard for the past week to get Brooke in to see Peyton. She'd pulled a lot of strings because it was what Brooke wanted. But now, she was doubting her efforts. Why had she been so keen on getting Brooke in to see her best friend dying? The thought seemed absolutely absurd now. She knew of the pain this little visit was going to bring upon Brooke, but if it was what she wanted, she wasn't going to refuse her.

Grace opened the door, then turned to help Brooke stand.

"I'm okay, Grace," she protested, holding up her hand to stop Grace from assisting her. "I'm not completely helpless."

The nurse didn't say anything, just offered a feeble, apologetic smile before leading Brooke into the room. She wasn't surprised by the gasp she heard emitted from behind her.

Brooke lifted one hand to cover her mouth. She'd been wrong when she said she was ready. She'd been silly to think that this was going to help, to think that by seeing Peyton everything would okay.

She was horribly, horribly wrong.

With tears already fresh in her hazel eyes, Brooke walked slowly around the hospital bed to the chair that was already set up beside, already waiting for her. She sat down quietly, too utterly shocked to be able to say anything. Her sparkling eyes were locked on Peyton's face, that face she loved so much, the face that now seemed to be lacking its usual, natural beauty.

The tube coming from Peyton's mouth was recognizable enough; a ventilator. Brooke knew it too well to misinterpret it as anything else. The right side of her chest and shoulder was abnormally large, as if swollen; heavy bandaging - maybe even a cast? - underneath the gown. A small white bandage was visible behind her ear. Brooke had no idea what it was for, but maybe ignorance to it was better in this case. Her left wrist - the one on Brooke's bedside - was set in a clean white cast. Each finger on her other hand was adorned with its own metal brace, secured on with a couple strips of white medical tape. Her face was a retreat for the eyes from the otherwise mangled body. It had almost healed completely in the last week. No more bruises or cuts. Just her lips was marred with a small scar that had not yet faded. The only other mistakes were the dark bags beneath her closed eyes.

Brooke swallowed hard, her head tilting to the side a little as she just stared at Peyton with a pained expression.

A few minutes passed like this, before Brooke drew in a shaky breath and turned to Grace. "Can I have a minute?" she asked weakly, her eyes pleading with Grace to understand.

Grace gazed skeptically back at Brooke from her position at the door. She knew leaving Brooke in here alone wasn't the best idea, but she wanted so badly to give Brooke what she asked for.

"Promise me you won't touch her." It wasn't a question.

Brooke simply nodded.

Grace nodded in return before exiting the room, dragging the door behind her, but she did not shut it completely. Brooke noticed, but did not complain. She would take what she could get.

With another quiet sigh, Brooke returned her eyes to Peyton's face.

She knew what she wanted to say. The thoughts in her head were perfectly clear and coherent. It was the task of turning the thoughts into words that posed a problem.

"Oh, Peyton…. I'm so sorry." It was always a good place to start.

Already her emotions were running away with her and Brooke was forced to tear her eyes away from her blonde friend. She stared down at her hands, which sat unmoving in her lap.

"This is all my fault," she started again, several tears slipping from their restraints. "I could have stopped it. I should have, but I didn't. I wasn't fast enough and you're here because of it." Her bottom lip quivered as she began to cry freely. "I let him hurt you. I tried so hard, but I was too late. Now you're here and he's somewhere out there because I was weak." She forced her eyes up to look at Peyton's delicate face through the tears. "I failed you," she whispered the final words before the floodgate was opened and her body broke down into quiet sobs. She leaned over her knees, her hands clutching her own hospital gown between her fingers as salty rain fell from her sore eyes.

After about five minutes of relentless crying, Brooke's sobs finally began to decease and she was able to gain control of her body. She had scooted her chair a little closer to the bed and was now leaned over, her head resting softly on top of the neat blankets. Her hand lay under Peyton's fragile one, the nurse's orders be damned.

She wished it was her instead. Peyton had seen enough darkness in her life. She didn't need this incident to add to the collection unfortunate events she'd wracked up over the years. Brooke wished _he_ would have had a fascination with her, not Peyton. She wanted to be the one he'd taken upstairs, because if she had, it would be her lying in this hospital. It would be her in the coma.

And Peyton would be okay.

That one, trivial notion is what made the thought of the sacrifice easy. If given the chance, Brooke would gladly go back to that night and let it be her whom _he_ had wanted to hurt. Because if Peyton was okay, then so was everything else.

"Brooke, honey."

Brooke hadn't even heard Grace come in, but even after hearing her soft voice break the silence, she did not lift her head. She was unwilling to move away from Peyton's side.

"Brooke, I'm afraid you have to leave."

Brooke listened as Grace made her way farther into the room, waited for the outburst when she'd see that Brooke was lightly holding Peyton's hand. But the yelling never came.

Instead, there was a small hand on the middle of her back, then another under one of her arms. Then there was tugging, urging her to sit up. Brooke did not argue. She sat up, but before Grace could pull her any further, Brooke leaned forward again and pressed her lips softly against Peyton's cold hand.

"Please don't leave me."

xxxxxxxxxx

**I certainly hope this was worth the ridiculously long wait. Please R&R because comments equal love. (:**

**What to look forward to: the return of a character we all love, whether we admit it out loud or not. **


	6. Truth Is A Whisper

**Chapter six.**

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Brooke sat uncomfortably on her side of the table, across from officers Kelley and Bouten. They'd returned in hope of finally getting Brooke's statement, after hearing that the teenager was up and about and in a far better condition than she was in the last time they'd visited.

But Brooke was much less enthusiastic about talking to them as they were about talking to her. She knew what they wanted, knew that they would ask her to recount the events of that night. The thought of telling it like a story, being forced to relive every minute of it, petrified her. She didn't want to do it, but she knew that she had to.

"Miss Davis," the stout one, Officer Kelley, addressed her.

Brooke didn't look up, instead choosing to stare down at her hands, which fidgeted relentlessly in her lap.

"Miss Davis," the officer said again, but this time continued. "We know this has been a very hard time for you."

Brooke could have laughed. These two men were easily the least sympathetic people she'd encountered in the seven days she'd been awake.

"But we need you to make your statement."

Her chest rose as Brooke drew in a deep, shaky breath. She wished Haley were there. Or anyone for that matter, just as long as she wouldn't have to do it alone.

"We need you to tell us, with as much detail as possible, what happened."

With difficulty, Brooke swallowed the lump in her throat. Her eyes remained focused on her restless hands.

Several minutes passed in silence in which Brooke tried to collect herself and her thoughts so that she might be able to tell the officers the information they needed to hear without completely falling apart. It was going to be hard, but she had to do it.

"It was around ten-thirty when I got to Peyton's-"

"And why did you decide to go there?"

Brooke's head snapped up. She'd finally found the strength to start speaking and not ten words into her description, they'd interrupted her. Quite honestly, she was floored, and even more flustered. But she had to cooperate.

"Because she wasn't at Prom," Brooke answered without emotion. She dropped her gaze again as she continued. "We'd talked about going to Senior Prom since we were little kids. I knew that for her not to be there, something had to be wrong.

"So I went to her house and the front-"

"Did you tell anyone you were leaving? Or where you were going?"

Obviously frustrated with the continuous interruptions, Brooke sighed and shook her head. "No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I wasn't thinking, okay?" she nearly shouted, but instantly caught herself and forced herself to remain calm. "I didn't expect there to be a psycho stalker at her house. I didn't think I needed to tell anyone."

"Okay, so you got to Miss Sawyer's house and the front?" Officer Bouten encouraged her to continue. All the while, Officer Kelley was scribbling away on his miniature notepad.

"The front door was locked, but her car was in the driveway. I knew she was there, but she wouldn't answer the door," Brooke explained. "So I went around to the back and used the hide-a-key to get inside. I went to Peyton's bedroom and she wasn't there, but there were obvious signs that she had just been there."

"What kind of signs?"

Why was that important? Sure, they'd asked for as much detail as possible, but why did it matter what kind of signs had given away the fact that Peyton hadn't been gone long?

"Like, her curling iron was still hot and I could still smell the hairspray in her bathroom."

Officer Kelley jotted down a few more notes. Brooke shook her head in annoyance.

"So I went back downstairs. The door to the basement was open, so I went down there figuring she was trying to hide from me or something." Brooke swallowed hard again and looked back down at her hands. The memories, the images of what she'd seen and what had happened were so vivid in her mind. "Peyton was gagged and tied to a chair, trying to scream something at me. I turned around and _he _was there."

"By 'he' you mean Ian Banks?" Officer Bouten questioned, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

Brooke furrowed her brows in confusion, but then she realized who Ian Banks was. _He _was a liar. He'd lied about being Peyton's brother. He _wasn't_ Peyton's brother, and therefore his name was not… well, not what he said it was.

Not wanting to have to explain why she'd never heard the name Ian Banks before, Brooke simply nodded her head, then continued.

About fifteen minutes later, Brooke had reached the point in her story where it became extremely difficult to tell. One of the nurses had already brought her a box of tissues because her strength to keep from crying had failed her.

The deeper she got into the events of the night, the softer Officer Bouten's fierce blue eyes had become. Officer Kelley, however, still seemed shockingly unattached, not even looking up from his notepad of chicken scratch notes.

"That was a smart thing to do, Brooke," Officer Bouten commented, nodding his head in approval. "The neighbors are the ones who called us. They heard you screaming for help."

Brooke attempted a feeble smile, but it didn't really come off as anything close to a smile. She wrapped the damp and torn tissue around her pointer and middle finger, unwrapped it, then wrapped it again. This was easily one of the hardest thing she'd ever had to do.

"I knew I had to get Peyton out of there before he got back on his feet, so I did the only thing I could think to do," Brooke continued. Throughout the duration of her speech, she'd been looking at her hands, because her hands couldn't look back.

"I dragged Peyton down the hall and into the bathroom. I locked the door, obviously, then finally let my attention fall only on Peyton. I held her in my arms for a few minutes." Brooke's voice was getting quieter as she recollected how she had felt, sitting there with Peyton in her arms. "I was so sure she was going to die. But then she whispered my name. She tried to say something, but then he started banging on the bathroom door, yelling at me to open it. The door didn't look like it would be able to hold, so I stood with my back to it."

"And that's when he stabbed you," Officer Bouten finished, his expression full of both sadness and anger.

Brooke nodded and released a shaky breath. She remembered the feeling of the cold metal penetrating into her back, the sheer pain that had her on the floor instantly.

"Then I passed out. When I woke up, he…" Brooke trailed off, a fresh flood of tears streaming silently from her sore, hazel eyes. "He was…" She tried again, but a violent sob wracked her body as the memories invaded her mind. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to block them out, but her efforts were in vain. She could see it happening, she could hear it and feel it as clear as if she were back there on the bathroom floor, begging for mercy.

"He was on top of me," Brooke finally managed to get enough of a hold on herself to continue, although she continued to cry as she spoke. "I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't." She could feel his hands on her body, so Brooke wrapped her arms around herself tightly. "He was so sadistic." She shook her head and closed her eyes, remember all the sick things he'd said to her while she struggled underneath him. "It was like he thought I was someone else, someone he knew." She was aware that it didn't make any sense, but she didn't know how else to describe it. "He told me to say that…" She paused and bit down on her bottom lip. It was so twisted, so demented. There truly were more things wrong with _him _than just being a psycho, obsessive stalker.

"To say what, Brooke?" Officer Bouten pressed.

Brooke hesitated, then looked up into the officer's piercing blue eyes. "To say that I love him."

There was a moment of silence in which Brooke and Officer Bouten just stared at each other. The disgust was obvious on Bouten's face. Officer Kelley finally looked up from his notepad to see why the other two had stopped talking.

"So I did," Brooke continued. "Then I passed out again." Only then did she drop her gaze from Officer Bouten's. "And when I woke up, I was here."

Officer Bouten nodded and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Brooke. We know the rest."

Brooke just nodded and remained sitting while both officers stood and began to gather their things. She was too drained to stand at the moment and had every intention of staying there for several minutes after they left so she could recover from the difficult last half hour.

"We'll be doing everything in our power to find him, Brooke," Officer Bouten assured Brooke as he made his way to the door behind his partner. "I promise."

This time, Brooke's smile was real and conveyed her gratitude for everything he was doing for her.

Just as the officers were opening the office door, Brooke turned in her chair and spoke. "Officer Bouten?"

Bouten stopped and turned back around to face her. "Yes, Brooke?"

"How long did it take the police to get to Peyton's after the neighbors called?"

It was a question that had been burning in the back of her mind for several days. Just how long had she been unconscious and completely at the mercy of _him_. It made her sick when she thought about it, when she thought about all the things he could have done while she was out. All the things he could have done to Peyton…

"About fifteen minutes," Bouten answered softly with a mildly puzzled look on his face.

A shudder took hold of Brooke and she inhaled sharply. Fifteen minutes. That was plenty of time for _him_ to do whatever he pleased with whomever he so choose. The thought was haunting.

"Do you think…" Brooke trailed off and once again looked down at her hands. "Can you fill in the blanks?" she asked cautiously. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know, but a part of her was curious. Had they gotten a glimpse of _him_? Had they perhaps gotten the chance to take a shot at him?

Officer Bouten looked out the door briefly, content to see his partner conversing with one of the nurses. He closed the door, then stepped back into the office, closer to Brooke.

"When we got there, Banks was gone," Bouten explained. "We figure he heard the sirens and took off out the back." Bouten look down at the ground with a regretfully expression. "If we had known more about the situation, we would have been stealthier so as not to alert him of our arrival."

He sighed, then lifted his head to look back at Brooke. "We found you and Miss Sawyer in the bathroom, lying side by side. You were both unconscious." Bouten shrugged and tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his black pants. "I'm sorry I can't give you more information, but that's about all there was to it."

Brooke nodded her head with a discontent expression spread across her face. She couldn't help but notice that he had used 'we' instead of 'they'. "So you were there?" she asked quietly.

Officer Bouten nodded. "I carried you out."

Brooke's eyes darted up to meet his blue ones. She could see the sympathy in his gaze. She wondered where that compassion had been a week ago when they'd tried to get her statement before, but no answers were within her grasp.

"Thank you," she said weakly.

Bouten simply nodded, then returned to the door and exited the office.

Once he was gone, Brooke slumped forward in her chair, placing her arms on top of the table and resting her head on them. Weeping took hold of her and she cried silently into her arms.

The memories were so fresh in her mind now, after sharing them out loud. It had been the first time she'd ever spoken about the events of that night in such detail. It was like she could feel every cut, ever bruise searing her skin as if they had just been given to her.

As much as she longed to let it go, to just forget, she knew it wasn't going to be that easy. That night was going to live with her forever. _He_ would always be able to find Brooke in her mind, in her consciousness and in her memories. She would never forget the way it felt to have that knife pressed so dangerously against her throat. She would never forget the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she found that monster raping her best friend. She would never forget the helplessness she had felt while lying underneath him, begging him to stop…

A hand on her back caused Brooke to sit up and release a startled cry. She was relieved to find that it was only Grace, who helped Brooke stand and led her to the wheelchair that was waiting in the doorway.

Just a few minutes later Brooke was safe in her room, finding comfort in the warmth of the bed she usually found so stiff and cold. But it felt good to relax, to be able to rest.

"Thank you, Grace," Brooke whispered softly, her eyes already closed as she nestled deeper into the blankets.

It wasn't even noon and already Brooke was falling into a light sleep, but Grace wasn't surprised. The girl had been forced into a rough morning and rest was probably the best thing for her.

Grace didn't reply, instead she just smiled down at Brooke and brushed a lock of her dark hair off her forehead, then left the room.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Luke, man, are you sure we should be here?"

Nathan sat apprehensively in the driver's seat, staring passed Lucas in the passenger's seat to look at the house.

Lucas nodded, determination set in stone on his face. "I'm tired of being useless, Nate," he answered simply, before unbuckling his seatbelt and jumping out of the car.

Nathan killed the engine with haste and followed Lucas inside the house. By the time Nathan got to the front porch, Lucas had already ripped away the yellow police tape and the front door was left open. He sighed, knowing well that they shouldn't be trespassing, knowing well that no one would approve of what they were doing. But Lucas seemed unstoppable, and in all honesty, Nate didn't blame him. He could see the desperation in Lucas's eyes, he could hear it in his voice. And truthfully, Nathan wanted to help, as well. He, too, was tired of just sitting around, doing nothing.

"Luke, where'd you go?" Nathan called from the foyer, having lost his older brother while contemplating on the front deck.

"Upstairs."

Nathan took the stairs two at a time and was walking into Peyton's room within ten seconds. Lucas was already rummaging through Peyton's desk. Nathan noticed the computer booting up.

"And what exactly are we looking for again?" Nathan asked skeptically.

"Back when Derek first got here, Peyton posted a picture of the two of them on her MySpace," Lucas answered. "The police don't know who they're looking for. If we can give them a picture, they'd probably be able to find him a lot sooner."

Nathan nodded. There was no arguing that case.

Just as Nathan moved to search in Peyton's closet, Lucas sat up in the desk chair, holding a small chip of sorts between his thumb and forefinger. "This might be it," he said hopefully as he slid the memory card into the appropriate spot in the computer modem. He was mildly thankful that Peyton was an artist as opposed to a photographer; it would have made it much harder to find the picture if they had to search through twenty memory cards instead of just one or two.

All that could be heard was the sound of the roller on the mouse clicking softly as Lucas scrolled through the pictures, both his and Nathan's eyes focused on the computer screen.

Lucas couldn't help the dull ache in his chest as pictures and pictures of his girlfriend flashed across the screen. Some of them were surprisingly old, taken during their junior year. He could tell by her hair, and the way her arms were wrapped so naturally around Brooke's waist. The smile on her face was so genuine - they were laughing. Things must have been so much simpler for them back then, back before he became such a prominent part of her life. Back before she'd ever fought with Brooke, her best friend and other half.

It was difficult sometimes for Lucas to cope with the knowledge that he was the reason for the death of a friendship between two people who meant so much to him, two beautiful people who deserved so much more than what they'd been dealt. There were so many things he regretted, so many things he'd take back if he could.

"There it is," Lucas said, the bothersome thoughts moving instantly to the back of his mind. A disgusted look crossed his face as he stared at the man who had attacked his girlfriend. He was the reason Peyton and Brooke were in the hospital. And in that moment, all Lucas wanted to do was find the guy and rip him to pieces with his bare hands. Sighing to repress his rage, he closed the window and removed the memory card from the modem. "Let's get this to the police station," he said, before standing and making his way out of Peyton's bedroom. Nathan followed close behind.

xxxxxxxxxx

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Brooke said with annoyance. She was sitting up in her hospital bed, the blankets pooled around her waist as she spoke with her doctor. "They're not here. They're on the other side of the country."

Doctor Harris adopted a look of frustration to match his patient's. "Well I don't know what to tell you, Brooke," he said, sighing sadly and shaking his head. "I'm afraid we can't release you without a proper guardian."

"This is bullshit!" She yelled. Did they not understand that her parents hardly qualified as parents at all? Did they not know that Brooke had never actually had a meaningful conversation with either one of them since she was thirteen months old, when she'd said 'momma' for the first time? Of course they didn't. "Am I just supposed to stay here until my parents decide to come back from California?" she asked angrily.

"You have no family that we can release you to?" Doctor Harris questioned.

Brooke groaned in aggravation. "No," she repeated for the seventh time in the last ten minutes.

When the doctor had come into her room with the good news that she would be able to leave soon, Brooke had been ecstatic. She was sick of sleeping in the stiff hospital bed, in a room that was not her own. She was sick of unsatisfying hospital food - she'd eaten so little of it that she was sure she'd lost far more weight than what was normal for a hospital patient. She was sick of nurses constantly checking up on her, like damn helicopters hovering over her, just waiting for her heart to stop again.

She was tired of it all. She didn't care where she went or who she went there with. She just wanted out.

"We'll try to figure something out, Brooke. I promise, we will. But until then, I'm afraid you have no choice but to stay here."

Brooke groaned yet again and fell back against her head pillows, but just as she did, a high voice joined the conversation from the other end of the room.

"Not necessarily," the voice said.

It was a voice Brooke knew all too well. But it couldn't be. She was gone. Brooke had said goodbye and everything.

Brooke sat back up and looked to the door, and sure enough, there stood a tall, thin, redhead, leaning against the doorframe with one hand on her curvaceous hip.

"Rachel!" Brooke shrieked, unable to suppress the smile that crossed her face.

"Hang on a second, Brooke," Rachel said with a smirk as she stepped further into the room, walking towards Doctor Harris with a deliberate swing in her hips until she was standing right in front of him. "Brooke will be staying with me."

"You're a relative?"

"No," Rachel said with obvious attitude. She cocked her head to the side as she looked up at Doctor Harris, mischief glinting in her brown eyes. "But I've got Mrs. Davis on the phone at the secretary's desk, waiting to give you orders as to what Brooke's living arrangements are."

Dr. Harris furrowed his brow as he stared down at Rachel. Even Brooke found the way one side of the redhead's lips tilted upward into a smirk rather discomforting, nor could she believe that Rachel had actually managed to get her mother on the phone.

"Alright then," Doctor Harris said with unease, exiting the room and leaving Rachel and Brooke alone.

Several seconds passed in silence, during which Brooke just stared at Rachel in awe, before she screeched again. "Rachel!"

Rachel grinned again and made her way to Brooke's bedside. "Hey bitch."

"What are you doing here, whore?" Brooke asked. The shock brought on by her friend's return had not yet left her expression.

"I heard about what happened," Rachel answered, the smirk falling from her lips to be replaced by a grim look.

"But… how? You were in New Orleans, weren't you? This wasn't exactly national news."

Rachel hesitated for a moment, before speaking again. "Mouth called me," she said simply. "And for the record, I wasn't in New Orleans."

"Then where were you?" Brooke asked, confused by Rachel's words.

Rachel just shrugged and shook her head, moving to sit on the edge of Brooke's bed. "It's a long story."

Brooke sighed. "Well, I'm sure you'll tell me later." She dropped her gaze from Rachel's face for the first time since she'd made her grand entrance. She was so unspeakably happy that Rachel was here. This was her friend, the girl who had, for the last couple of months, taken Peyton's place in her life. Brooke had been heartbroken upon hearing that Rachel was leaving. She hadn't wanted her to go, but Rachel had been expelled. What had Brooke expected? For Rachel to just hang around Tree Hill and do nothing? Of course she would leave… but that didn't mean Brooke could be happy about it.

Then Brooke's thoughts traveled back to what Rachel had said, about how she heard the news of her and Peyton's attack.

"Speaking of Mouth, what has he been up to?" she asked curiously, almost carefully. Brooke had been surprised when each day ended and Mouth hadn't come by to see her. She would have expected Mouth to visit before she would have expected Chase, or Bevin. It was strange, really, and Brooke wondered whether she should take offense. "He hasn't been by to see me," she admitted sadly.

"That's kind of a long story, too," Rachel replied cautiously, shifting slightly on top of the bed. "I'll let him tell you about it."

Brooke quirked a brow and was about to respond, but she was interrupted by Doctor Harris's return.

"Okay Brooke, I guess we'll be releasing you into the care of Miss Gatina here," Doctor Harris said. The bewilderment was evident in his voice, and Brooke had to fight back the urge to smile in amusement. She had no idea how Rachel had pulled this off, but she was undeniably ecstatic about it. "Your mother explained the situation with great detail and has given us permission to let you live with her."

"Thank you, Doctor," Brooke said with as much gratitude as she could muster, and even threw in a small smile as the doctor retreated once more from the room.

Once she was sure that Harris was no longer within ear shot, Brooke turned her attention back to Rachel. "How the hell did you get my mother to agree to this?" she asked with both curiosity and amazement.

Rachel laughed. "Don't be silly, Brooke," she said matter-of-factly. "That wasn't your mom."

Brooke's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Wha-? How did you-?"

Rachel shook her head and held up her hand in a 'stop' gesture. "Relax, Brooke. It's taken care of," Rachel said proudly, then scooted closer to Brooke. "You're coming back to live with me, and that's all that really matters."

She smiled down at Brooke, and for the first time since she'd come into the room, it was sincere.

Brooke returned the smile with ease. It was hard to believe that when Rachel had first arrived it Tree Hill, Brooke had absolutely hated her, especially now when Rachel never ceased to amaze her with her generosity.

"Thanks, Rachel," she said with raw gratitude.

"You're welcome," Rachel returned genuinely, before holding her arms out for Brooke to fill them.

Brooke gladly fell into Rachel's embrace. She was so grateful… she was sure that Rachel would never know just how much.

"It's good to have you back, Rach."

"It's good to be back… slut."

"Skank!"

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**There you have chapter six! I hope Brooke's statement for the police record helped to clear up exactly what happened. And I certainly hope you all enjoyed the return of lovely Rachel! I know I did, and I look forward to her becoming a much larger part of this story. (:**

**Thank you to those of you who take the time to review. I really, truly appreciate it.**

**What to look forward to: Brooke goes home and is forced to face the demons she's been so keen on avoiding.**


	7. Here Is Gone

**Hey guys. So I apologize for my lack of updates, once again. But for a while there I'd decided to just let go of LMTS because it just wasn't getting the hits and the reviews I'd hoped it would. But one night I was bored, and figured that since I wasn't going to continue this story, that I'd just have a little fun with it. The chapter turned into something I actually really liked, so I'm posting it, and whether or not I keep going depends on the feedback.**

**So here's chapter seven. It's different from all the others in that it's written in first pov, but hey, my story, my decision. Plus, like I said, I was just having fun. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**Oh, and heads up, this chapter puts to use the M rating. It's the first time I've ever written a scene of intimacy, so I'd really love to hear some feedback on that, critical or appraising. It's all good. (:**

**xxxxxxxxxx**

_Brooke_

_Breakfast At Tiffany's_ played on the tv screen sitting in the living room across from me. I sat curled up under a blanket on the couch, kind of uncomfortable. But my discomfort was not physical. It was mental. Paranoia had found me about three minutes after Rachel left. She'd said she'd be right back, and I knew that she would hurry to return. I knew she was aware of how much I feared being alone. How terrified I was to be left at the mercy of silence and shadows.

It was hard for me to believe just how amazing Rachel was being throughout this whole ordeal. As if coming back to Tree Hill after hearing the news and offering me a place to stay wasn't enough, she was actually taking care of me. Like, full on baby sitting me, for a lack of better term.

It's not as bad now as it was in the beginning, just four short days ago when I was at last released from the hospital. She wouldn't let me go anywhere on my own. When I sat up in bed so that I might leave to use the bathroom, she was immediately at my side, taking my arm to help me across the hall. Three times a day, she would bring me a tray of food, no matter where I was in the house. It was ridiculous, really, and I hated it. I even told her that I didn't want this kind of treatment. That I wasn't made of glass. Sure, I was fragile, but I wasn't a fucking china tea cup.

There was one aspect of Rachel's relentless watchfulness of me, though, that I couldn't help but appreciate. Things tend to get worse at night, but I guess that's no big shocker. The first night back at Rachel's was bad, to say the least.

"_Get off me!" I screamed into a featureless face. My hands were balled into tiny fists and beat against his hard chest in vain. Tears burned my sore eyes, blurring my already hazy vision. How long had I been here, lying on this bathroom floor with this mysterious man on top of me? I wasn't sure. All I knew is that it needed to stop. It had to stop._

"_Please," I pleaded with him. Could he hear me? Did he even have ears? _

_But he didn't stop. His hands found my wrists and shoved them to the floor above my head. His fingers squeezed too tightly. I stretched and contracted my fingers, but I couldn't feel them. _

"_Get off, please." My words were feeble and begging at this point, broken up by the sobs that wracked my abused body._

"Brooke!"

_I hated the way my name sounded as it came from somewhere within him. He had no lips, no mouth to make the sound. Where did it come from?_

"Brooke!"

_There it was again. I watched in horror as the blank face above me began to adopt features. Brown eyes, then a petite little nose and rosy red lips._

_Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a cascade of water fell on me._

_I woke with a start, panting and gasping for air. I couldn't tell if my cheeks were wet with tears or ice cold water. Maybe both, I wasn't sure._

_But all that really mattered to me was that Rachel was the one staring into me with her brown eyes, cloaked in concern. I frantically reached for her, clutching myself to her slender body as if it were the only thing keeping me from falling back into that horrible dimension where _he_ was waiting, waiting to hurt me again, like before._

"_Shh, Brooke, it's okay."_

_Rachel's voice was soothing in my ear. My face was buried into the crook of her neck, my hands clutched tightly to the front of her tank top. He still felt so close, so real. I couldn't shake the image, the feeling of him using me for his own sick, twisted pleasure._

"_You're okay. You're here, with me. No one's going to hurt you here."_

_As she comforted me, I slowly began to slip back into reality, and I realized that her words were true. I was sitting on my bed in Rachel's room, with the red head holding me in her long arms._

_My body slumped into hers when I finally released my tensed muscles. My breathing returned to normal, interrupted only now and then with a breath that liked to cut itself short. _

"_Come on, scoot over."_

_I didn't really do anything as Rachel pulled back the corner of the covers and climbed into the bed beside me._

_I fell gladly into her waiting arms, laying my head on her chest. I felt her hold on me tighten a little, and I couldn't deny how wonderful it was, how truly safe I felt there. _

_It took me all of two minutes to fall into a dreamless sleep._

_I woke up that morning feeling more rested than I had since before our Prom-Gone-Wrong._

_Rachel was already awake. I lifted my head from her chest so I could look into her face. I opened my mouth to thank her, but words caught in my throat when I noticed her cheekbone, tinted in awful shades of green and blue._

"_Rachel, what happened?" I asked. My voice was hoarse. There was barely any tone to it at all. But my expression communicated enough concern to make up for my less that sympathetic voice._

"_You hit me."_

_I was taken aback. She didn't say it with anger or remorse. She simply stated it._

_I, on the other hand, was beside myself with regret, even if I'd done it unconsciously._

"_Oh, Rachel, I'm so sorry. Here you do this selfless thing for me and I repay you by giving you a bruise."_

"_Stop it, Brooke," she ordered, but her voice was still gentle. Was she still trying to comfort me? I couldn't quite tell. "You were dreaming. You were flailing about and I just happened to be in the line of fire. No harm, no foul."_

"_But look at you," I argued, shaking my head and lifting my hand to softly brush my fingers over her discolored cheekbone. "I can't believe I hit you."_

_Rachel shied away from my touch. I wished I could have distinguished whether it was because the bruise was tender or because she didn't want me touching her. I hoped it was the former… although I wasn't quite sure why._

"_Really, Brooke. It's not a big deal." She shrugged, and I wished she would stop being so blasé about it. I'd hit her, for Christ's sake. "I'll tell everyone I had some hot, rough sex this weekend. Would you mind hitting me in the arm, too?"_

_I wanted to swipe that smug grin right off her pretty face._

She slept with me in my bed every night after that, claiming that if she didn't, I'd have nightmares and she wouldn't be able to get her beauty sleep. I didn't argue. In all honesty, I _did_ sleep better with the comfort of Rachel's warm body next to mine.

I wasn't sure what I did to deserve such kindness from Rachel. For the longest time, we hadn't gotten along at all. But eventually we found a likeness in the bitterness, and we used that likeness to build a friendship. She would never know how thankful I was for that friendship now.

Although today, I couldn't help but fear that that friendship had been tainted. Last night had gotten out of hand. I was weak and scared and looked for relief in all the wrong places. Why had she agreed? Why hadn't she shoved me away? I wasn't ready to lose our friendship, especially over something so… so juvenile.

_We were facing each other. I think I'd started out with my back to her, but eventually I'd turned over, and eventually Rachel had woken up. _

_Now, we just stared at each other in innocent silence. As I wondered what she was thinking, I began to wonder if she was wondering what _I _was thinking. _

_I'm not sure why, but I started to cry. But the silence remained. The only way she could have been able to tell that I was crying was if the moonlight glistened off my fallen tears._

_Which apparently, it had._

"_Why are you crying?" she whispered._

_I closed my eyes tight, praying that she wouldn't be able to read my thoughts. It seemed that as of late, I'd been an open book._

_I felt her fingers against my cheek, brushing away the tears. So I opened my eyes._

"_I'm scared."_

_There was a short silence. I nearly suffocated because of it._

"_Of what?"_

_For some reason, I was filled with a mild sense of satisfaction with the fact that she hadn't just assumed that I was scared of _him_, like most others would have. She knew me so much better than everyone else._

_Well, everyone except for a certain blonde, who was still a few miles away, lying alone in a hospital bed._

"_Everything," I breathed. I felt my eyes glistening with a fresh wave of tears, but miraculously, they did not fall._

_I didn't explain what I meant by 'everything'. I was sure that Rachel would presume I didn't mean it literally. But there really were a lot of things that frightened me. So many things that, at one time, I had been so certain of. Now all I knew was doubt._

_I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, before reaching up and placing my hand on top of Rachel's, which was still at the side of my face. I laced my fingers through hers and pulled it away from my face. I dragged her fingers down my neck, across my collarbone and down the middle of my chest._

_My breathing quickened as my eyes found her brown ones. I could see that her body had tensed, gone stiff, but I was glad to find that she wasn't pulling her hand away._

"_What are you doing?" she asked. She didn't sound revolted or offended. Just… apprehensive. Maybe even curious._

_I wasn't sure how to answer that. After all, even I wasn't really sure about what I was doing. But I tried my best to put my thoughts into words, for both our sakes._

"_I'm afraid that it's not real anymore," I started, but I knew that it made no sense at all. But for some reason, I continued anyway. "I need to know that it's real."_

_I pulled her hand a little lower, to the middle of my torso._

"_Brooke, wait," she said, her voice gaining a subtle note of urgency as she stopped the movement of our hands._

"_Please, Rachel," I whispered a plea, my eyes shining with unshed tears once more. _

_If only she could have understood exactly how I felt. Exactly how I feared that it wasn't real anymore, that it wasn't anything more than a painful, scarring experience._

"_I need to know that it's more than just…" I couldn't bring myself to say it as a soft sob wracked my body. "Than just…"_

"_Shh, I understand."_

_Her words were a relief, and I lifted my gaze to meet hers. Her brown eyes were filled with several different emotions. The only one I could be sure about was worry. _

"_But, are you sure?"_

_This question surprised me. I hadn't expected her to even consider this. And in all honesty, I _wasn't_ sure. I was acting on an impulse. A desperate need to prove to myself that there was more to it than what _he_ had shown me._

_Slowly, my eyes not once leaving hers, I nodded my head._

_And apparently, that was all the affirmative she needed._

_I wasn't sure exactly why she agreed to it. Did she actually want me? Or was she just doing this for me? Was this another one of her selfless acts of kindness that she'd been spoiling me with the last few days? I really couldn't tell._

_But when she moved so that she was on top of me, I didn't really care why she was doing it. The important thing was that she was going to prove to me that it _was_ real. The important thing was that in that moment, I trusted her with my fragile, broken body, because I knew that she would never do anything to hurt me._

_I watched with bated breath as Rachel dipped her head to kiss the side of my neck, and I was surprised by how easy it was, and by the fact that it didn't feel awkward at all. I'd never done anything like this with a girl. The thought had never crossed my mind because I simply wasn't attracted to the same sex. But this was different. This wasn't about an attraction or a passionate desire. That stuff didn't matter._

_She let most of her weight rest on me, and I enjoyed the feeling of her body flush against mine. My eyes fluttered closed and I craned my neck to the side, allowing her better access as her teeth and tongue grazed my heated skin in a perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. _

_Instantly, I felt a wave of heat course through my body as a reaction to Rachel's lips on my neck. My hands were at the small of her back, attempting to pull her body down closer to mine. I couldn't have explained the sudden need that took hold of all my senses. It was wild and untamed, as if all my pent up anger and distress was suddenly letting loose in a very satisfying way._

_I was quickly becoming feverish, my breathing ragged and uneven, as Rachel pulled away from my neck and sat up, straddling my hips. I stared up at her silently from my position beneath her, wondering what it was she was going to do next._

_She didn't say anything as her hands found the hem of my tank top. She tugged on it, pulling it up my body, and I raised my arms over my head to allow her to pull it up over my head. There was a split second in which I felt self conscious, a little uncomfortable, being half naked under the stare of another girl. It was a new feeling for me, since I was always exuding confidence, but I realized that that confidence would probably never find me again. Not after everything that had happened._

_But my uneasiness disappeared as soon as Rachel leaned down, her flowing red hair falling to frame her cherub face, and took one of my nipples into her warm mouth. I gasped involuntarily and pressed my head back into the pillow harder. With every expert flick of her tongue across my hardened pebble, a jolt of electricity shot straight through my entire body. I felt the region between my legs responding to Rachel in a very obvious way._

"_Rachel, please," I begged, not quite sure what I was begging for. The sensations coursing through my veins were so overwhelming I could barely think straight._

_She must have understood my request better than I did, because as she moved to pay the same treatment to my other nipple, she pressed her palm flat against my stomach and excruciatingly slowly moved it downwards._

_My hips rose, pressing into hers in anticipation. _

_I felt her hand slip beneath the fabric of my boy shorts, and with my arms stretched straight out, I grasped a fistful of sheets in each hand. _

_With my wetness, Rachel's forefinger slid easily across my clit and another exasperated gasp escaped my lips. At the sound, Rachel released my nipple from her captivity and once again moved up to attack my neck. My hands automatically moved to her back, my fingertips tightening around her shoulder blades._

"_Rachel," I whimpered again, desperate for her touch._

_She complied without complaint. She slipped one long, slender finger inside me, and my hips were quick to buck into her palm. With a mind of their own, my legs bent at the knees and spread apart a little. My eyes were shut tight, my forehead creased in concentration as she slowly pulled her finger out of me completely. _

_With the noticeable absence, I felt lost, alone in a world of sorrow from which I would never return._

_But then she pushed inside me again, as far as she could go, curling her finger slightly within my slick walls. My mouth hung open a little to better fit my uneven, heavy breathing._

_Rachel's movements were slow and even, so much more attentive than the last time I had been touched this way. _

_But as the tension began to build and my stomach twisted up into knots, I knew that this gentleness wasn't going to get me to where I so urgently needed to be._

"_More," I breathed, arching my back up into Rachel's body._

_Her lips were still assaulting my neck, but that pleasure was not my main focus. I waited, then drew in a long breath as she slowly pushed into me again, this time with two long fingers instead of one. _

_When they were as deep in as they would go, I felt a twinge of pain due to the last time my body had been explored like this, due to the last time something had forced its way between my legs. I cringed at the pain and felt my body tense slightly. Rachel must have noticed, since she stopped her movements, her fingers pausing inside me. She lifted her head in order to peer down into my face._

"_Are you okay?" she questioned, her voice low, almost a whisper. I could see the concern in her deep, chocolate eyes. "Did I hurt you? Should I stop?"_

_I struggled to gain control of my ability to function properly. Once I managed to find it, I shook my head. I was touched by how worried Rachel was about me, how afraid she was of hurting me. The fact that she cared meant everything in the world._

"_No," I whispered in response, trying my best to hide the truth, that I really was in a small amount of pain. But her ending this before it was finished was about the last thing I wanted. I writhed beneath her slightly, anxious for her to continue, and I stretched my neck back, pushing my head back into the pillow behind me. "Please, don't stop." I wondered if I would ever be able to talk to her without taking on a pleading tone. But I supposed that didn't matter now, not when she started moving her fingers inside me again._

_She slid in and out of me with increasing speed, although her motions never stopped being gentle. I was grateful for her sensitivity to my fragility. It was a nice change._

_After several long moments, the pressure in my abdomen began to heighten substantially, and quickly. My breaths were coming in short gasps. My fingertips dug into the skin of Rachel's back as I moaned, "So close."_

_I felt her add another finger to her movements, causing me to groan in approval. I learned to cope with the small jabs of pain as her three fingers spread me wider, pumping in and out of me at a quick, even pace. I came to find that they mixed pleasantly with the more prominent waves of pleasure to do nothing but increase how amazing it felt. _

_Then her mouth was once again covering my nipple, her tongue swirling it around, her teeth nipping down on it ever so gently. "Fuck," I whispered frantically, my body once again arching into Rachel's as I felt myself teetering on the edge of my climax. _

_Her thumb found its way back to my clit and rubbed circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves as her fingers plunged into me as deep as they could. _

"_Oh, God. Rach." _

_My words came out as strangled gasps as my orgasm found me. I felt myself tighten around her fingers and I clung to her desperately. My eyelids pressed together tighter and my fingernails pushed into Rachel's back as she thrust her fingers into me one more time and curled her fingertips, adding to the intensity of the orgasm. _

_It took a couple minutes for me to come down from my high, but when I did, I was surprised to feel the smallest of smiles on my lips. Rachel was hovering above me, holding her weight with her arms, grinning down at me._

_I wanted to lean up and kiss her, to thank her for what she'd just done for me. But then I realized that, throughout our little escapade, the one place her lips had not ventured was my own. I couldn't help but wonder if there had been a reason for that, so I suppressed the urge._

_My expression straightened, no hint of a smile or smirk on my lips, and I just stared up into Rachel's brown eyes with appreciation. "Thank you," I whispered, then fell silent. I didn't know what else I could do, nor what I should do._

_Rachel gracefully fell back to the bed beside my and nodded. "You're welcome," she said with a tone just as earnest as mine had been. She opened her arms for me to occupy them, and I didn't hesitate to snuggle into her side. I didn't seem to remember that I was topless. Well, that, or I just didn't care. I was far too content to care about anything, really._

All day, my mind had been consumed with only two things: one unconscious blonde and one pesky redhead.

It was torture, really.

On the one hand, I was still worried sick about Peyton. Every time I thought about her, lying on that hospital bed, hooked up to an IV with an oxygen tube to her nose so she could breathe properly, I thought about the day of Prom. All the nasty words we'd exchanged in our fits of anger. It was my fault. I'd thrown the eggs at her house. I'd provoked her, not the other way around.

I threw my Posh mug at her, for Christ's sake.

And then she'd said the words that practically ripped my heart out of my chest.

"_You're right, she's dead. And as far as I'm concerned, so are you."_

Yea, that one hurt.

If only I'd had the strength to tell her the truth, to be so brutally honest with her the way she was with me. Maybe it all could have been avoided. Maybe she would have told Lucas she wanted to go to Prom, that way he would have never left when he went there to pick her up. Maybe, if I hadn't been such a god damn awful coward, none of this would have happened. And Peyton would be okay.

So on the other hand, I had Rachel. What was I supposed to make of what happened last night, of what we did? Did she expect me to return the favor? Was there some kind of connection between the two of us that I'd never noticed before? Was Rachel – dare I say it – bisexual? Or was last night a one-time thing? Just another one of her selfless acts of charity for me?

I really had no idea what to think of it. Any of it. And I had no idea how to go about with the rest of the night. Rachel had been completely blasé all day, almost as if nothing had happened… Although this morning when I came downstairs she'd said, _"Morning, Horny."_ That was about all the reference she'd made to it yet. It made me uncomfortable, to think about what we'd done, what I'd asked for and how completely pathetic and vulnerable I must have looked and sounded.

I honestly didn't know how I felt about it. I mean, I'd never, _never_, done anything like that with a girl before. I'd never been that physically close to anybody but another guy. That was it. I was straight as a fucking board.

Wasn't I?

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing. I leaned forward to grab it off the coffee table and for some reason didn't bother looking to see who it was before answering with a less than enthusiastic, "Hello?"

"Brooke. Hey, it's Lucas."

Damn it, why didn't I look at the caller ID?

"Oh, hi Luke."

"How are you? Is everything working out okay at Rachel's?"

His voice sounded cautious. I could tell that he was nervous and I felt kind of bad for being the cause of it. I hadn't meant any harm in isolating him. I just knew I wouldn't be able to handle seeing his face, not when I knew he would remind me of _him_.

"Been better. Rachel's great. She's taking such good care of me you'd think I was paralyzed or something."

He chuckled softly, but I could hear the apprehension behind it. It wasn't a genuine Lucas Scott laugh. Shame.

"Well that's good." He paused momentarily, and I was afraid I already knew what was coming. "So, um, I was hoping that since you're out of the hospital now, and doing so well, that maybe I could… um, maybe I could-"

Of course I was right. He wanted to see me. But I wasn't sure I was ready. How was I supposed to know if I was ready.

I drew in a sharp breath and interrupted him. "Lucas, wait."

He stopped. Always so polite.

"Luke, I feel really bad about asking you to stay away, but you have to understand."

I heard him sigh sadly, and wondered if I even needed to continue.

There was a long, silent pause. It took a mere three seconds for it to become awkward. I shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"I wish there was something I could do."

"I know, Lucas." A couple of tears fell from the corners of my eyes. It felt so wrong, holding the boy whom I'd once loved with all my heart at arms' length. I wanted so desperately to let him in, because I knew Lucas. I knew how great he was at saving people.

I'd seen him save Peyton too many times to forget.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, reaching up to wipe the tears off my cheek.

"Just, when you're ready-"

"I'll be sure to call," I finished his sentence for him, and drew in another shaky breath.

"Bye Brooke." I couldn't shake how the sadness in his tone cut through my like a butcher knife.

"Bye Luke." And the line went dead.

I didn't bother to hold back as my body broke down and sobs wracked my fragile body. Every once and a while, I'd be hit with a big enough sob it actually hurt me. The doctors said the tissue surrounding the point at which the knife had entered my back would be tender for a couple of weeks. I wasn't really surprised.

But what did shock me was just how truly weak I had become. I used to be such a strong, independent person. Now all I could do to survive was latch onto the people who cared about me. Rachel. Haley. Karen. They were holding me together in more ways than they knew. Without them, I was sure I'd be lost. It was a helpless feeling, one that was foreign to me. I didn't particularly care for it, either, but I wasn't about to push these people away. Not when I needed them so desperately.

The front door opened, bringing me once more from my thoughts. I quickly pulled myself together, not wishing Rachel to see me like this and once again extend her undeserved kindness to me. I just stared forward, listening to her footsteps as she made her way from the foyer and into the living room.

I noticed just a little too late that the footsteps were much louder, heavier, than they should have been.

I didn't even have to time gasp before a large hand covered my mouth from behind. A strong arm wrapped around my neck and squeezed, making it difficult to breathe.

Fear.

It was the only thing that registered in my racing mind as I felt hot breath on the side of my neck, and two deep, whispered words met my ears.

"Hello, Brooke."

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**Okay, so now that you've read a chapter in Brooke's pov, here's the question. _If_ I continue, how would you rather read the next chapter: from Brooke's or from Derek's pov? **


	8. Goodnight To Romance

**Muahaha. How's this for penance, guys? I don't update for over month, now two chapters in two days! Needless to say, I'm pleased with myself. But once I started this chapter I just couldn't stop. So here you go, Brooke's pov as most suggested. And I agree. It worked really well and I was able to get soo into it. I actually had to pull myself away from the computer and take a breather 'cause it got so heavy at some points. Lol.**

**Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed. It's what got this chapter up so promptly. -heart- **

**Warning, not for the faint of heart. Cruelty and sadness ensues.**

**Do enjoy. (:**

**xxxxxxxxxx**

_Brooke_

Panic coursed through my veins as realization struck me like a ton of bricks. It was _him._ The man of my dreams. No, the man of nightmares. The one who so relentlessly attacked my mind because my body was out of his reach. My body was numb with such sudden terror, I couldn't move, I could do nothing to defend myself. I couldn't lie to myself and say that things had started looking up, that I had finally begun to get over it, because they hadn't and I wasn't. But I'd finally felt safe, here in Rachel's house, in the warmth of her friendly, protective embrace.

But now that newly acquired sense of security was shattered, broken into a million pieces just like my confidence, just like the tears that dripped off my chin and splashed apart against the tan skin of _his_ arm.

I tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by his inescapable hold on me. I struggled, wiggled and writhed on the couch in hopes of slipping out of his firm grasp. I was frantic, and so were my motions. My entire body from the neck down flailed about, but he had no trouble holding my head still, just where he wanted it, beside his.

He sighed, a sick, disgusting sigh right into my ear that sent a whole new wave of anxiety through my nervous system.

"Oh, I've missed you, Brooke."

I didn't even try to stop the terrified cry that erupted from my core. This was exactly what I'd been paranoid of. Well, maybe not exactly. An intrusion? Yes. But by the same monster? No. I had hoped that all the hype about him and the fact that the police were constantly on top-priority manhunt for him would scare him away. That he'd leave Tree Hill to find another place to wreak his havoc, to destroy someone else's spirit.

But I certainly hadn't anticipated him coming back _here_.

My hands were at the arm around my neck, fingers grasping desperately to find some sort of grip so that I might be able to pull it away. But everything about me was so small, so weak in comparison to him. My efforts were in vain.

I could barely breathe, and yet my chest heaved up and down rapidly. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. Maybe it was my nerves. I wasn't really sure, but I knew that I was hyperventilating. My heart raced, felt like it was bouncing back and forth at an impossible speed within my ribcage. My eyes struggled to focus, but my vision was blurry. My hands and feet felt like they were both freezing and on fire. I felt as though if I couldn't breathe properly soon, I would pass out.

My attention was abruptly redirected from my own aching body and back to _him_ as he began tugging at my neck, as if he was trying to pull my head clear off. He'd finally squeezed tight enough to shut off my air supply completely, causing me to choke as he pulled me up and over the back of the couch.

It was more of a relief than anything else when he threw me to the floor. I went a little lightheaded when at long last my lungs were filled with a sufficient amount of oxygen.

But the relief vanished instantly as he threw his body down on top of mine.

"Get off of me!" I screamed, knowing well that my words did no good. I struggled against him, doing anything I could to prevent him from getting the upper hand, to keep him from squaring himself on top of me and grabbing hold of my wrists.

But of course, he _did_ get the upper hand. He took both my wrists in one of his longs hands and pushed them into the carpet above my head. With the use of my arms taken away, I tried desperately to kick him, but it was impossible. He was straddling my waist, out of reach of my feet as they moved swiftly through nothing but air.

Once again, I found myself completely at his mercy.

And I broke down.

"What do you want with me?" I whimpered through my sobs. It was difficult to see him, hovering above me as he was, through my tear-filled eyes. He was just a blurry shape. A faceless figure, just like the one in my nightmares. "Why are you doing this?"

I didn't expect an answer. I only begged because it seemed like the only thing I _could_ do. For all he knew, they were rhetorical questions. I could have just been contributing to the amount of pleasure he'd gain from this by begging. That was half the appeal to monsters like him, wasn't it? The thrill of being in control? The ecstasy of being feared? For all he knew, I was pleading for his sake, not mine.

I blinked away a few tears and found that he was smiling down at me. It was far from pleasant. I was frozen because of it. Sadistic was the only I could think to describe it. The only word that did it justice.

My head instinctively shied away from him as he leaned down to press his lips to my ear.

"Because you begged me to."

My mind reeled. I could hardly focus on the unpleasant heat of his tongue against the side of my neck.

I'd _asked_ him for this? Not just asked, but _begged_? He had to be lying. I would never ask for this. I would never wish it upon anybody, not even my most hated enemy. He was only saying it to make me squirm – which I did. He was toying with my mind, the way he had with Peyton with his whole fake Prom setup. He was trying to make me believe that I wanted this. That I wanted him.

"You're lying!" I screamed several seconds later, once I'd managed to swim through my racing thoughts enough to compose a coherent one. I struggled against him more urgently, twisting and turning my body beneath his. "Get off me!" I yelled again, my voice cracking on the 'me'.

"I'm not lying, Brooke," he whispered into my ear, his tone dripping in venom. He ran his tongue from the bottom of my jaw to my hairline as I cried harder, trying me best to block out his words even though every syllable seemed to rip me to shreds. "You begged, pleaded for me to fuck you." He was back at my ear, nipping roughly on the lobe. I didn't notice the pain. "You said you ached for me. That you needed me inside you."

His hand found my right breast through my tank top and squeezed it painfully as I screamed a mangled, "No!"

It couldn't be true. I tried and tried again to make myself believe that he was just messing with me. Inflicting mental pain as well as physical. But I couldn't shake this feeling. His words, his low, sultry voice swam round and round in my head, repeating itself like a broken record player.

I sobbed a few more weak "no's" before his hand slid up from my chest to the side of my neck. His body felt heavier as he pressed himself down on me, grinding his hips against mine. I cried a little harder.

"Don't you remember?" he whispered.

My vision went black as I did, indeed, remember.

_The pain in my back was like nothing I'd ever felt as I came to. I was lying face up, the light on the bathroom ceiling seemingly burning holes into my sensitive retinas. I was confused, and disoriented. But most noticeably, I couldn't bring my body to move. There was too much pain. Too overwhelming to fight._

_But my eyes and my ears functioned well enough. Just like before, I heard a faint, low grunting. The sound of skin slapping on skin. _

"_Peyton, sweetheart, you feel so good."_

_I managed to turn my head and saw _him_ on top of Peyton, once again thrusting himself into her. Her frail, crumpled body shook with him and I wanted to scream at him to stop, but I couldn't find my voice. My eyes traveled from his face to Peyton's. I was shocked – mortified – to see that her eyes were open. Tears leaked slowly out of the corners. Her emerald eyes, which usually gleamed with a sort of mischievous fire, were completely colorless. Gray. Inert._

_Dead._

_She looked at me, then, her eyes moving slowly to meet my gaze. I could see the immense amount of pain there. The sadness. The distraught. The grief. That fire I had once loved so much was completely gone. _

_I had to do something. I couldn't just lay there and let this happen to her._

"_Stop." I finally found my voice, although it came out almost as quiet as a whisper. He didn't hear me, just continued to hurt Peyton. I tried again. "Stop!" I shrieked, causing a spasm of pain to rip through my upper body. The word echoed, reverberated off the walls of the cramped bathroom._

_I was relieved to see that he actually did stop, but petrified when his furious gaze found me. _

_Apparently, I'd interrupted him when I shouldn't have._

_Without a word, he picked up where he left off. My eyes still on Peyton's, I saw her turn her head away. She had no fight left in her. He didn't even have to hold her down as moved in and out of her roughly. _

_Frustrated and desperate, I yelled at him again. "Get off her!" I screamed the best I could. "You can have me!" Compensation. He could give up one thing in exchange for another. I was willing to be the bargaining chip, so long as Peyton was safe. "Please, just leave her alone." _

_I was definitely pleading now. I needed him to stop hurting Peyton. She was already so broken, and I couldn't risk losing her. I'd do anything to protect her._

_My tearful eyes were on his now, and he seemed to contemplate my offer. He looked from me, to Peyton, then back again. He took minutes, trying to make his decision. My heart was racing so fast I was sure I'd have a heart attack before he'd be able to make up his mind._

_Just as I was sure he was about to decline, he straightened up, and shuffled over to me on his knees. It wasn't until he used his hands to lift and part my knees that the fear for myself truly sunk in. Yes, I'd made the sacrifice willingly, but I was terrified. I didn't want this. I didn't want him hurting _me_ either, but it was better than him hurting Peyton. _

_I hesitated, my hands moving to his chest and pushing him away as he tried to lower himself over me. _

_It was an awful predicament, but I knew I had no other choice._

_He paused, waited for me to take my hands away, and after a few seconds, I did. He lowered his lips to my ear and I drew in a sharp breath at his unwanted closeness. _

"_As soon as I'm through with you," he whispered as his hands moved down the sides of my body, all the way to the tops of my thighs. His fingers grasped at the fabric of my dress and pulled it up, high enough to allow him to settle himself between my legs. My breath hitched and I began to cry, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. "I'm going back to my girl," he finished. His words made me sick to my stomach._

_My hand searched for Peyton's on the floor between us. Once I found it, I grasped on, my fingers squeezing tightly around hers._

"Bastard," I whispered beneath my breath as the memory played out and faded. So he hadn't been lying. Just exaggerating. I wondered how I could have possibly forgotten. Before, all I'd remembered was waking up with him on top of me. Little spurts of memory, here and there. A broken, choppy piece of a horrific story. The doctors and police officers had been surprised by my retelling of what had happened. They'd said it was common in a case such as mine for the victim of a horribly traumatic event to suffer from memory loss. They'd been shocked that I'd been able to tell them everything.

But apparently I hadn't given them an accurate account. One memory forgotten, now remembered.

"You're sick," I said a little louder, once again finding the strength to fight. He didn't seem to even notice my struggling, however. He just grinned that fucking grin and, without saying a single word to me, dragged his lips down my throat, across my collarbone, and down the center of my chest.

I hated the way his lips felt against my skin. His teeth and his tongue. It was disproportioned. Nothing like Rachel, or Lucas, or any other guy I'd been with for that matter. There was far more pain than pleasure. Of course, in this situation there was no pleasure at all. I knew there'd be little red marks left in the wake of his "kisses". He was leaving a trail. Leaving his mark.

With his body a little lower on mine, I gave the kicking another try. I managed to knee him some place on his backside, causing him to jerk upward. His grip on my wrists loosened and I fought to free them. He was so much quicker than me, though. He was pinning them against the rug even harder now, eliciting a sharp gasp from my lips as I felt something snap. Tears sprung to my eyes immediately, but I didn't have time to consider what might have just been broken before the back of his free hand connected squarely with the side of my face.

I let my head fall limply to the side, allowing the fire that burned in my cheek to spread across my face and down my neck. I swallowed hard, closing my eyes tightly, willing myself to wake up. This had to be another nightmare. Any minute now, I would hear my name being yelled at me. Water would fall onto my face, seemingly from nowhere, and I'd be in my bed, with Rachel beside me. Maybe it was actually Rachel who had slapped me, and in my dream I just imagined it was _him_.

Yea, that was it. I'd wake up. Any minute now.

Before I had time to even notice his hand at my waist, sneaking around to the small of my back, I was being flipped over. I found myself on my stomach, _him_ still straddling my waist, with my hands secured at my sides underneath his knees.

What the hell was this? A new wave of panic swept through me. I craned my neck, attempting to look behind me to see what he was doing, but the straining hurt and I couldn't see anything anyway.

"What are you doing!?" I shouted frantically. He'd answered my last question. Maybe he'd answer this one to.

Although when I felt his finger lightly tracing something across the top of my back, I wasn't so sure I wanted to know what he was doing.

I was terrified now. I could feel my body shaking beneath him, and I fruitlessly squirmed beneath him, knowing there was nothing I could do to save myself, but desperate anyway.

"Get off!"

His response was a laugh, fit to match his smile. Sadistic. Gut wrenching. Horrifying.

His laugh alone made me want to die, because surely death was better than whatever that laugh had in store for me.

Then there was silence. Such an intense silence that it was almost painful. I stopped moving, as if that was what the silence wanted of me.

And then I screamed. It felt as though the scar on my back was ripping open. But just when I thought it was done splitting, it moved. I shrieked and flailed as the tearing of my skin seared tantalizingly slowly across my back, from left to right.

When what I finally realized was cutting stopped, I laid motionless and weak on the floor, sweating and panting and in a substantial amount of pain. My upper back burned as if it were on fire. I needed someone to put it out. I was desperate, still waiting on Rachel for that much needed splash of water.

But Rachel never came. I didn't struggle as he turned me over again, too weak to even think about fighting him as he tugged on my clothes. I lied still as he removed my small cotton shorts and my underwear in one swift motion. Did nothing but let my head fall back to the side as déjà vu hit when he parted my knees and knelt between them.

I blinked, suddenly empty, and just listened to the faint sounds of a button being unfastened, a zipper being pulled down. I felt him grab my hips and pull them up to meet his.

He ripped me apart in more ways than one.

I didn't beg him to stop this time. Didn't beat my tiny fists against his chest or try to push him away. I just let him mutilate me. I'd admitted it to myself long ago; he had stolen everything from me. He'd stolen Peyton, my confidence, even what little innocence I'd had left. Now, he'd stolen my will, as well. My will to fight, my will to not let him defeat me. Even my will to live.

Survival seemed irrelevant to me now. I didn't want to live simply because there was no longer anything to live _for_. I just wanted out. Away from _him_. Away from this God awful place. Away from the memories that – even if I made it through this – would haunt me every day of my life.

I wanted someone to take it away. All of it, including me.

Quite abruptly, I realized who I had just turned into. I recognized Peyton in myself, and I knew that if I were to look into a mirror, I would see gray, dead eyes staring back at me.

He grunted from somewhere above me, and I was disappointed to be brought back to reality, which was so full of both physical and emotional pain. I was almost numb to the pain caused by _him_ as he pumped in and out of me carelessly, mercilessly. _That_ was something unsalvageable, so why dwell on it? But my back ached. My wrist was definitely broken. And that dull nothingness in my mind taunted me to the point of insanity.

A soft, unidentifiable _click_ sounded through the living room. I wondered if it was real, or if I was the only one who'd heard it. Perhaps it was the sound of my brain unhinging. Maybe several more little _clicks_ were on their way, preparing me for a dive into blissful lunacy, a place where I wouldn't understand any of this.

But the clicks didn't come. Instead, another sound echoed off the walls. One I'd forgotten about, and certainly hadn't expected.

"Get off of her."

Rachel's voice was quavering, but strong and threatening. I moved my head to see her, but couldn't from my place underneath _him_. She must have been standing directly behind him, maybe six or seven feet away, judging by her voice.

I didn't expect him to listen, instead assuming he'd just continue to get his fix of me, the way he had at first with Peyton. Not unless she was offering herself the way _I_ had. If that was the case, I wouldn't stand for it.

Instead of relieved, I felt nervous when _he_ slowed his movements, only stopping when he was fully inside me. I swallowed hard and released a strangled breath, uncomfortable due to the lingering intrusion. I feared that if he stopped assaulting me, he'd assault Rachel. I didn't want that. I couldn't have that. I was already ruined, already so far lost that it didn't matter how long or how many times he raped me. No more harm could be done.

You couldn't break what was already broken.

I didn't really watch so much as see _him_ turn his head to look over his shoulder at Rachel. I felt his body stiffen above me and wondered what could have possibly made _him_ tense. I wished Rachel would just leave. Get herself out of harm's way so he could just finish what he'd started. If I was lucky, maybe he'd kill me when he was done.

But I should have known Rachel would be stubborn. I heard her take a step towards us.

"Get. Off. Her." Her demand.

"Why should I?" His reply.

"Because if you don't, I'll blow your fucking head off."

So Rachel had a gun. Her earlier words suddenly made sense to me, the ones she'd rambled off with casualty before she'd left.

"_I'll be back. I just want to get us a little reassurance, that's all."_

I hadn't understood what she meant by 'reassurance,' but now it was so blatantly clear.

And she was pointing that reassurance at _his_ head.

I felt him pull out of me then, and get up completely. I closed my eyes and rolled to the side, curling up into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest in hopes of self imploding.

When there was no implosion, there was nothing I could do but lay there and listen to the exchange between the monster that owned my soul and the girl who was fighting so hard to win it back.

"You wouldn't shoot me."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

"You couldn't. I don't think you have what it takes."

At this point I could distinguish his heavy footsteps from her light ones. It was he who took two steps towards her.

"I think you're underestimating me."

"I disagree."

There was a bit of a scuffle. I could hear there short breaths, could tell the difference between Rachel's struggled gasps and his low groans as they fought.

I took a deep breath from my place on the floor and stretched my arm, reaching for my shorts. The movement caused my muscles to protest, but I ignored them. Rachel was feisty, I'd give her that, but I was afraid that she would falter under _his_ strength. I wouldn't let him hurt her. Wouldn't let him take someone else from me.

I pulled my shorts up my legs, then slowly pulled myself to my feet with the help of the back of the couch. By the time I was standing and actually looked up, _he_ had one arm wrapped around Rachel's neck. His other hand held the gun to her temple.

I gasped and took an automatic step forward.

Why had I waited so long to get up? I knew he would get the upper hand with Rachel, just as he'd done with me. I should have intervened sooner. I should have been stronger, faster.

Yet another old thorn that pricked me in a place it would hurt most. Two of my best friends would die because I wasn't quick enough.

He was whispering something in her ear, dragging the tip of the barrel of the gun from her temple, down to the corner of her mouth, then back up again. The look on Rachel's face was somewhere between petrified and furious.

I watched as he fingered the trigger.

"Don't!" I cried, taking another step forward and holding up my hand in a 'stop' gesture.

Both of them looked at me then. Apparently neither one had noticed me get up. Rachel looked panicked. _He_ looked amused.

"Please, not her, too." I was begging again, tears welling up in my dry eyes. "You've already taken Peyton from me," I pleaded, dropping to my knees about five feet in front of them. "You've taken everything. Don't take Rachel. Please." I dropped my head, unable to hold it up as I cried. "You can have me," I repeated my words from two weeks ago. Offered myself as a sacrifice in order to save another person I loved. "Just take me," I weeped.

I looked up in time to see his face soften, almost strained as compassion flashed briefly in his eyes.

Apparently, Rachel sensed his second of weakness, and took advantage of it. There motions were a blur in front of me. She managed to slip away from his hold around her neck, her hands instantly wrapping around the gun. Their bodies were too close as they spun around in slow circles, dancing as they fought for possession of the weapon. I couldn't tell who had it, or who was going to come out the winner.

A shot fired. My eyes went wide with horror as I looked from his face to hers, wondering what had happened. Both expressions looked the same: shocked.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

**Voila. Hope you enjoyed it. Well, not necessarily **_**enjoyed**_** it, considering. But you know what I mean. It's a little shorter than the last few chapters, but only because I couldn't resist ending with such a nasty cliffy. Hehe.  
**

**Couldn't tell you what to look forward to in the next chapter. I don't even know yet. Woot! But I will say that I'm itching to get Peyton back in the game, so yea… there's that. Reviews equal Love!**


	9. The Walking Wounded

**Greetings from the underworld! So here it is, chapter nine, and chock full of Peyton! Yayness. So I hope I don't disappoint. I really deliberated on how I wanted to portray Peyton... whether or not I wanted her to be weak, like she was in the actual OTH, or if I wanted her to be stronger. I think I made the right choice, and I certainly hope you guys agree. It just made sense to do it this way... So anyway, read, enjoy, and review. Thanks loffs!**

**And to all of you who take the time to review, thank you so very much. It's what keeps LMTS going. (:**

**PS. I just have to say, One Tree Hill tonight was pretty much amazing. But that's all I'll say so as to avoid spoilage for those of you who might not have seen it yet. **

**xxxxxxxxxx**

_Brooke_

I waited with bated breath, sure that if I didn't find out soon whose body the bullet had penetrated that I would pass out from the anxiety. My eyes flicked back and forth between her face and his. What felt like agonizing hours must have been just a few, short seconds. I could barely breathe.

What would I do if it was Rachel? She'd suddenly become such a huge part of my life. She'd suddenly stolen a small piece of my heart, owned it, and even reciprocated the sentiment. Even though the friendship was young, it was strong. It had so much potential. All it really needed was time to grow. If I lost her now, I'd be losing so much. Maybe not as much as if it were Peyton, or Haley, or even Lucas. But if Rachel died, a substantial part of me would die with her. That fraction of my heart that had melded together with hers. Lost forever.

I wasn't really sure what I would do if it were Rachel. Would I be more devastated or more outraged? Would I crawl to her crumpled frame? Hold her in my arms and watch her die? Or would I throw myself at _him_? Take the gun away from his strong hands and shoot him enough times to be sure that he could never hurt me or anyone else, ever again?

I had no idea, but as their bodies parted, I realized I was about to find out.

Rachel took a step backward, her mouth hanging open slightly in shock.

The gun was in her hands, the barrel pointed at _him_.

He fell back to the floor, his hands clutched around his middle. They were red, covered in his own blood.

I didn't move. Didn't stand to see his face before his eyes fell closed and his arms fell to his sides. I just stared at him, unmoving from my place on the floor. I couldn't speak, couldn't even think, really, but I could feel it welling up inside of me.

The realization that it was over.

Rachel was on her knees at my side before the first tear even fell from my eye. Her arms were around me. I slumped against her, holding onto her as my emotions swept me away with them on a furious riptide of relief and rage and vengeance, so many more that I couldn't even identify.

I cried into her shoulder until eventually the tears ran out and I was doing nothing but breathing heavily and unevenly. My arms had loosened, fallen to a casual loop around her waist. But she still hugged me tight. Even though I seemed to be getting a hold of myself, I was grateful.

"Is he…" The words got lost in my throat. I hadn't really expected that I'd be the first to say anything after such a long stretch of heavy silence. "Is he dead?" I whispered, closing my eyes tightly in hopes of willing the image of _him_ away.

I felt Rachel shake her head.

"I don't know."

I drew in a shaky breath, then sunk into Rachel's embrace a little more. The slow release of air could have been mistaken for a sigh.

"We need to call the police."

I nodded, although I wasn't exactly willing to move just yet. All I needed was a few more minutes, just a little more time to recover.

"And you need to go to the hospital."

I was considerably less passive about that statement.

I sat up abruptly, lifting my head so I could look at Rachel with what I assumed were wide, frightful eyes.

"No, Rach. I'm fine," I said quickly, probably not convincing at all.

She looked at me condescendingly, before reaching around me and lightly touching her finger to my back. I winced slightly.

"You're not fine, Brooke," she said with an authority I was sure I wouldn't be able to override. She held up her finger, the pad of which was smeared with red.

My blood, I assumed.

"So clean me up," I protested, my words still short and way too rapid. "All I need is some antiseptic and Band Aids."

She shook her head. I knew I wasn't going to win this, but I was prepared to beg anyway. I'd gotten pretty used to it by now.

"Please, Rachel." My voice was softer now, and I spoke much slower. I didn't have to fake the fear that shone in my expression. "Don't make me go back there."

It was one thing to go to Tree Hill Memorial Hospital to visit Peyton, but to be taken there as a patient, to be held up in an ICU or a Recovery Room, or even just the General Ward, was something entirely different.

If only I could explain to Rachel how truly petrified I was of having to go back to that hospital. I'd already experienced too many horrible, painful trips there. Anna Sawyer's fight with cancer. Both of Lucas's comas. Haley's coma. Rachel's coma. Peyton's coma. And of course, my own coma.

That place was home to some of my darkest memories. A place where an emotional hurt unlike any other just sat, waiting for me to step inside its doors so it could rip my heart apart, piece by piece.

I'd laid in my own hospital bed, unable to do anything but eat, drink, and sleep, and listened to the doctor outside say that there was a good chance my best friend would not wake up.

I couldn't go back there, not for this.

Rachel looked contemplative now, her face noticeably softer than it had been just seconds ago. She sighed, reaching up to push a piece of my dark hair behind my ear.

She opened her mouth to speak, I assumed, but then hesitated. Paused, closed her mouth, then opened it again. I furrowed my brows, wondering what could be so difficult for _Rachel_ to say.

"What?" I pressed, tilting my head the side a little as I stared at her in confusion through my tearful eyes.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

I knew that wasn't what she'd been about to say, but I didn't argue.

With Rachel's help, I managed to make it upstairs and into our bathroom. She gingerly stripped my spaghetti strap top from my body, careful not to agitate my back. She wasn't one hundred percent successful, but I didn't say anything. She was already trying so hard.

She threw the soiled shirt into the hamper before I had the chance to see it, and I supposed I was thankful.

"Over here." She led me to the toilet and gently pushed me down to it, so I was sitting facing the tank. I listened to her as she moved swiftly around the bathroom, gathering the things she needed.

It wasn't until then that I noticed just how exhausted I was. My muscles, my joints, everything hurt. My eyes were sore. My wrist – I just realized – was swollen and discolored. With my arms on the top of the tank, I let me head fall. Slumped over simply because I hadn't even enough energy to hold myself up anymore. I allowed my eyes to fall shut and focused on the sound of my breathing, hoping to detach my consciousness from the rest of my body.

Rachel moved silently behind me. My senses were dull, at this point. Was that a wet wash cloth she padded my back with? I couldn't quite tell, but I knew it was cold. It felt nice. Relief. But that reprieve didn't last long, and my skin was once again on fire as she dabbed a wet cotton ball across the cuts. Hydrogen peroxide, no doubt. I couldn't help but lean forward, shy away from her touch because I didn't want to have to deal with the pain. But then her other hand was at the middle of my back, dragging her fingers lightly down my spine, and I eased up a bit, allowing her to continue the cleaning process.

A few seconds passed after she'd pulled the offending cotton ball away, then I heard a sharp intake of air. A gasp.

I lifted my head a little. "What? What is it?" I asked, unable to hide the subtle note of panic in my tone. I tried to look at her over my shoulder, but by the time my eyes found her face, she'd composed herself and was moving back to the counter, to her handful of items intended to bandage me up.

"Nothing," she replied simply.

As if I'd believe that.

I sat up completely now, ignoring how cold the air felt against my freshly sanitized back. "Rachel." It was all I needed to say to get her to look at me with a face no longer so convincing.

"It's just-" She cut herself off, dropping her gaze from mine to look at the bandage wrap she held in her fingers. "Revenge," she whispered, still not looking up at me.

My forehead creased, brows pulling together. "What?"

"The cuts, on your back." Rachel finally lifted her head again. "They spell out 'revenge'. I didn't see it till just now."

I, too, gasped, more or less taken aback by this new information. I hadn't realized before that he'd actually been cutting into me with a purpose – if you could call it that. I thought he'd just been torturing me, no ulterior motives. But apparently I was wrong.

I stood then, and stepped beside Rachel in front of the mirror. Turning around, I craned my neck to look at my reflection, ignoring the disapproval of my muscles.

There, snug between the blue straps of my bra, carved into my skin, were the letters R-E-V-E-N-G-E.

Then I remembered that day in the hospital, listening to Doctor Harris describe to Grace with great detail Peyton's condition.

"…_The word 'justice' was carved into the skin of her upper back…"_

Oh.

"Cover it up," I said, not meaning for my voice to sound so demanding, but I felt on the brink of hysterics as my hands gripped the edge of the counter to keep myself from falling over.

"Brooke, I really think you should go to the-"

"Just do it," I cut her off, surprised that I'd managed to keep my tone level.

Rachel didn't move, so I looked up and stared at her in the mirror. She had that look again, the one she'd had downstairs. She needed to tell me something.

I didn't say anything this time, instead just waited.

"Peyton's awake."

xxxxxxxxxx

Rachel had called the police on the way. She told them we'd left the front door unlocked, and that who they were looking for was unconscious on the living room floor. I'd assumed they'd asked if he was alive when Rachel had responded with a "We didn't check."

The drive to the hospital couldn't have taken longer. She'd convinced me to go with those two simple words.

Peyton was awake. She wasn't going to die, after all. I wasn't going to lose the most important thing in my life. She was okay. And I needed to see her.

Of course, Rachel had insisted on having me checked out first. I'd sat there impatiently while one nurse fitted a cast to my wrist and another stitched up and bandaged my back.

After what seemed like days, I was finally being escorted to the Intensive Care Unit, which had become Peyton's home in the last couple of weeks – Rachel was gone, leaving me with strict instructions to call her when I was ready to leave. I'd made this walk many times before, but this one was different. This time, I was able to look forward to my meeting with Peyton, because there would be life there. Eyes to look back at me. A voice to return conversation. A hand to hold mine back.

At least, I hoped there would be. In fact, with the new memory of Peyton – the last memory of her being conscious – it seemed appropriate to fear that she might be as good as dead, even if she was awake. If she looked anything like the ghostly Peyton from that image in my mind, then she would not be Peyton at all. Just a shadow. What was left of her once vibrant and beautiful soul.

I hoped for the best and prepared myself for the worst as the nurse opened Peyton's door.

I couldn't tell you which emotion was stronger, relief or jealousy. Just from the look on her face, I could see that she was already healing, already moving on. She looked amazing… well, as amazing as to be expected, considering she'd just woken up after over two weeks of unconsciousness.

Of course, there were the obvious signs of her injuries. Her face had healed well, luckily. There were no lingering cuts or bruises. But I could see the small bandages on either side of her head, just behind her ears. The fingers on her right hand had healed faster than anyone had expected; they no longer required the four individual braces they had worn for so long before. But her left wrist was still burdened with the white cast, which I had already scribbled all over. I looked down at my own casted wrist, the left one, just like hers.

We were so alike now, physically, at least. And as I looked back up at her, I wondered if we were as alike mentally, as well.

I figured we weren't, what with the way she watched me so expectantly, so enthusiastically. Color had returned to her cheeks and lips. Her wildly curly and completely unkempt hair was pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head. She was sitting up, waiting for me. Her luminous green eyes were focused on only me. The picture of the pale, grisly Peyton was gone from my mind with the sight of this new, revived Peyton.

As I stepped over the threshold and into the room, I came to the conclusion that at that moment, I was far more relieved that Peyton seemed to be further down the road of recovery than even I was. After the initial shock of it all, I realized that upon just looking at her, I felt complete. It was a sensation I could have never anticipated because I hadn't really realized a part of me was missing. But now it was clear. So blatantly obvious that I just wasn't Brooke Davis without Peyton Sawyer. I'd gone so many months without her. Wasted so much time being angry. I was so preoccupied with my own bitterness to notice that by pushing her away, I was hurting myself more than I was helping.

I entirely forgot about the nurse hovering in the doorway as I stepped up to the side of Peyton's bed. The smallest of smiles was playing on Peyton's lips, but it was enough. I smiled back, already feeling the sting of tears as they clouded my vision.

"Hey, stranger," she said. So typical of her. Her voice was quieter than I remembered, raspier, but I figured it wouldn't take too long for her to sound like her old self.

"Welcome back, P. Sawyer," I replied, still smiling through the tears that rolled slowly down my cheeks.

I reached out for her hand, but instead of giving it to me, she held her arms open and out towards me. I noticed them quiver slightly, but thought nothing of it. I just chuckled softly – it was actually kind of sporadic, a mixture of a laugh and a sob – but didn't hesitate to sit myself on the edge of her bed and occupy those arms. I wrapped myself around her and held her closer than I'd ever held anyone before.

Her body felt so frail, so fragile within my embrace. I felt as though one wrong move might break her. But I didn't let go. Not yet. I wasn't ready to lose the wave of tranquility and relief that came with her nearness.

"I've missed you, Peyton," I said weakly, finally relinquishing my hold on her in order to sit back and be able to see her. She would never know how truly wonderful she made me feel just by looking at her. It was the happiest I'd felt in a long time.

"I was so afraid that you weren't going to wake up," I admitted, my voice increasing in speed involuntarily. I couldn't help myself. My emotions were running away with me. "I thought I was going to lose you."

Peyton's expression faltered. She found my good hand with hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. I was grateful for the contact. It was silly, but I still wasn't over that fear. Now that I had her back, I was as scared as ever that she was going to be taken away from me again.

"You could never lose me, Brooke," she told me.

If it would have been anybody else telling me I could never lose Peyton, I wouldn't have believed them. Peyton was like air, or the wind; always there, but never attainable. Through all these years I'd always had her, but never had her.

But now, as the words met my ears, I could hear the truth in her voice. I could see the conviction in her eyes. She was absolutely serious.

And I was absolutely joyous.

"You know, I think I dreamt of you," she said softly, almost hesitantly. Her eyes were on me, her expression dazed, unreadable. The emerald orbs looked unfocused, as if she were daydreaming. "I saw your face," she continued. A small smile was playing at her lips. "As clearly as I do now."

She lifted her arm weakly, and I knew it was difficult for her by how slow the movement was, how shaky her hand was as her fingertips touched my cheek.

"But now you're real," she breathed, the smile growing wider with what I only could have assumed was relief.

I drew in a shaky breath, trying to hold myself together while a moment passed between us in silence. We just stared at each other. I had no idea what she might have been thinking, but the only thing running through my mind was the sheer happiness that came with the fact that my best friend was awake. That she was sitting across from me, staring back at me, holding my hand and telling me that she'd seen me in her dreams.

It only took a second for her face to change from content to apprehensive. My expression fell, as well, but just when I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, she started speaking.

"What happened?"

At first I was confused, but when her fingers brushed across my tender cheekbone, I remembered. I'd forgotten about my own injuries, and the fact that they probably wouldn't go unnoticed by Peyton.

I hadn't even thought about what I would say to her if she brought it up. I wasn't going to tell her about _him_. There was no reason for me to tell her, not when she was doing so well. It would do nothing but upset her. She didn't need to know.

"Rachel," I muttered with what I hoped was convincing contempt. I even rolled my eyes.

"She hit you?" The shock was obvious in both her expression and her tone.

I shrugged. "We just got in a little fight."

"About what?"

"It's not important," I said, beginning to get uncomfortable with the subject. I knew that if she continued to press me for information, I would crack. Peyton was my everything. She knew all there was to know about me. I never kept secrets from her, but this one was a must. If lying was what it would took, I would do it.

Apparently, she believed me enough to let it go, and I sighed softly with relief. But her face remained concerned. She was visibly preoccupied.

"Brooke, about before," she started. I didn't like the sound of that. I didn't like the way her gaze fell from mine. There was a noticeable loss when I couldn't see those sparkling emerald orbs. I had gone without them for so long. I hated to admit that I needed them.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. Her voice had become even quieter, coated with what I could only identify as shame.

My forehead creased in bewilderment as I watched her, hoping that she would clarify my confusion.

"About what I said, before Prom. I didn't mean it. I was just-"

"Stop."

I couldn't help but interrupt her. I couldn't let her apologize for that. I wouldn't.

Her eyes were on me again, but this time it felt more like a stare. The trepidation and the sadness were visible somewhere behind the green irises. And regret. There was definitely regret there, too.

"We both said things we didn't mean, Peyton," I told her with earnest. "It was my fault anyway," I continued. Now I was the one to drop my gaze from hers. "I was pissed off about the sex tape, and Chase, and I was jealous of you and Luke." I was surprised by how easy it was to confess all these things, how easy it was to atone for what I had done. But I needed to be forgiven. Peyton was the one person I couldn't have mad at me. "I provoked you and I shouldn't have. It's my fault," I repeated. I still wasn't looking at her. "I'm sorry."

Several seconds passed in silence, once again. I wondered what she was thinking. Wondering if she would forgive me or not. Could I even be forgiven? Did I even deserve it? I'd basically reigned down on her for being happy. For loving the boy I loved, for living the life I wanted. What kind of friend did something like that?

Before I could answer any of my own questions, I felt a finger underneath my chin, making me lift my head. My eyes automatically flickered back up to Peyton's. Again, she was smiling. And again, I was confused.

"Look at you, B. Davis," she said, shaking her head in amusement. I was sure that my level of perplexity had never been and would never be higher than it was in that moment.

What the hell was so funny?

"You're a mess."

I was sure that if I were to look into a mirror, I would see my battered face pouting back.

She sighed then, and with her hands on my shoulders, she pulled me down to her and wrapped her arms around me. I wasn't sure what to make of any of this. I wasn't sure if she was being condescending, or if I should have been offended. But I just laid there in silence with my head on her shoulder, slightly nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

"Apology accepted," she whispered.

It was safe to say that wasn't what I was expecting. I must have expected her to be stubborn, like me, and tell me that I didn't need to apologize.

But then again, Peyton Sawyer knew better than anyone. She knew that I wouldn't have been happy with that answer, that I wouldn't have been content until she accepted. She knew that I'd been beating myself up for all the things I'd done to her in the past few months. And she knew that all I needed was her forgiveness.

"Thank you," I whispered back, and began to sit up again. But with her arms around me, she kept me from going anywhere.

"Don't go yet."

It wasn't a demand. Not even a request, really. She said it with a tone I had become extremely familiar with in the last few days. Above everything, it was a plea.

"Okay," I complied, perfectly happy to stay in the arms of the best friend I had missed so much for far too long. I shifted on the bed, moving so my entire body was lying next to hers, facing her. I rested one of my arms lightly across her middle, while both of hers were wrapped around my shoulders.

I was thankful for Rachel's suggestion to bring a sweatshirt. It wasn't often I wore a hoodie, but right now, it completely concealed my back from both Peyton's gaze and her touch. The material was loose and bunched around the top of my back. And even though I could feel the subtle pain caused by her hand moving up and down the back of my shoulder, I knew she wouldn't be able to feel the bandages beneath the clothing.

After several long, easy minutes of just lying there together, I finally broke the silence. "When can you leave?"

I felt her shrug, my head moving slightly with her shoulder.

"I don't know, really. It all depends. It could be as early as tomorrow."

I couldn't stop the small smile from crossing my lips, even though Peyton couldn't see it. The thought of having Peyton back in my life full-time was just too appealing. We would be able to spend time together. We would get the chance to move passed all of this.

"You can come stay with Rachel and me, if you want," I said, a hint of hope in my voice. I was curious as to whether or not she could see how much I needed her.

But the way her body tensed beside mine suggested that I was about to be disappointed.

"Thanks, Brooke, but I've already got plans to stay with Lucas."

My heart skipped a couple of beats, and I found myself struggling to breathe.

"He said it was okay with Karen if I stayed with them, just till things settle down."

I truly had to fight my initial reaction of wanting to get up and walk away with the mention of Lucas. It was bad enough that Peyton was declining my invitation, but even worse that she would be staying in the home of the one person I couldn't bring myself to see.

I fought to get a hold of myself, and managed to choke out an appropriate enough inquiry.

"So you've already seen Lucas?"

For some reason, it tore at me to think that I wasn't the first person Peyton had wanted to see.

"No. He called a little while ago."

That made me feel a little bit better. But only a little. I was still unusually discontented that Peyton was going to be staying with Lucas. I knew I shouldn't have been. It made all the sense in the world, actually, for her to want to stay with her boyfriend. He could protect her far better than I ever could.

I just didn't want to see it. I wanted to stay ignorant to the fact that Peyton's boyfriend just happened to look alarmingly like our assailant. And I especially didn't want to have to cope with the fact that she would be staying with him, that she would be sleeping in the same bed as him.

I hadn't noticed the silence that fell over us for the umpteenth time since I'd entered the room. I was far to concerned with my own thoughts to take notice to my surroundings. But now that I had found my way back into the present, I noticed that Peyton's hand had slowed its movements on my back to a full stop on top of my shoulder. I noticed the change in her breathing – it was slower now, and steadier. I didn't lift my head, but I was positive that if I did, I would see that her eyes were closed.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" I whispered cautiously, unsure as to whether or not she was already asleep.

Her reply was almost instantaneous, but her voice was dragging and quiet. And sarcastic, of course. "I wasn't planning on letting you leave."

I smiled into the silence and serenity of the moment as I let my own tired eyes fall closed.

The door must have still been open. I could hear the conversation being exchanged in the hall. A nurse was asking if it was okay for me to stay. I said a silent prayer that they wouldn't make me go, that they wouldn't take me away from my Peyton. I needed her now more than ever.

My body relaxed when the nurse won the argument and the door to our room was pulled closed.

"Thank you for coming back to me," I whispered into the darkness, snuggling closer into Peyton.

I didn't get a response, but I was okay with that, because in that moment, I'd never felt more at home. Even in all the years past, when we would spend a hard day's night together, one of us comforting the other for whatever reason, it hadn't felt as… as _right_ as it felt now. It felt as though she was the missing piece of my puzzle. The thing I'd been searching for. Ironic to think that she'd been right in front of me the entire time.

Now all that was left to do was heal, and move on. And to find out exactly what this new information meant to me, what I was supposed to do with the fact that Peyton meant everything to me… what to do with the fact that she was my world, and that without her, I wasn't me.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

**Alrighty then, so next up on LMTS I'm thinking about writing a scene in Peyton's POV? Is that a good idea or should I just stay consistent and stay in Brooke's POV? I, myself, am not really sure how I feel about stories switching POV, but I think I'd be willing to do it in this case. So what do you guys think?**


	10. Sure Thing Falling

**Hey guys. I'm glad you were all happy with my decision to have Derek get shot instead of Rachel. It's funny, when I first wrote chapter nine, it was Rachel who got shot – she wouldn't have died, of course – and Brooke who shot Derek. But I got like, three pages in and changed my mind, haha. **

**Alright, so for the sake of this story, Prom will have been sometime in late April – mine was, why shouldn't Tree Hill's? – so they would have at least another month or so of school afterwards. It just helps in that I don't have to rush things because of finals and graduation and whatnot. So yea, just keep that in mind. (:**

**Woo! So here's chapter ten (yay, double digits!). It's longer than most, but I feel like everything in it was essential and needed to be together. So do enjoy. (:**

**xxxxxxxxxx**

_Brooke_

I woke up early that next morning, but not by choice. A hand was on my shoulder, shaking me gently. I turned my head and squinted, trying to find the figure in the dim light coming through the window blinds.

"Miss Davis, you're going to have to leave now," the nurse informed me. She was whispering, but I could still hear the kindness in her voice. At least that was one positive thing about this place; the staff never stopped being nice.

But then again, maybe it was degrading. They never stopped being nice, _or_ they never stopped treating us like porcelain dolls, fragile little things that would break with the wrong touch.

And in the blink of an eye, I was annoyed, even though I really wasn't justified in it.

"Why?" I whispered, a little less than cordial.

The nurse didn't falter under my aggravation with her. It made me feel only slightly guilty. "Because, dear, we need to be able to do her vitals and stats without interruption… and without any obstacles."

I looked down at myself, my body stretched out across the bed next to Peyton's sleeping one.

I saw her point, but that didn't make me happy about having to g0.

"With any luck, she'll be able to leave today."

I nodded and smiled, but my effort was feeble, hardly there.

"Can you please have someone call Rachel Gattina and tell her to come get me," I asked the nurse with as much kindness as I could squeeze into my whispered voice. I was grasping at straws, hoping to get just a few more minutes with Peyton. "Her number's on file."

The nurse nodded, and returned my smile with much more sincerity. "Of course." She turned and exited the room, although she left the door open behind her.

I turned my head back to look at Peyton. It took a few seconds for my eyes to focus on her face, what with her closeness, but when I could finally see her properly, I was filled with that sense of tranquility and peace that I had felt last night. Her face was so calm, at such ease that I was almost jealous.

I had slept extraordinarily well last night. Even better than when I slumbered in the comforting arms that were Rachel's. Of course I was grateful for everything the redhead had done and was doing for me. She made the nights so much easier to deal with, and I was sure that if it weren't for her, I'd probably have lost my mind within the first few nights out of the hospital.

But there was just something different about Peyton. Something more. There was a security that came with our history. It came with all the things we shared, all the things we had been through together. I was pretty sure that no matter how hard Rachel tried, she would never be able to compare to that.

Looking over at Peyton's closed eyes, I was overwhelmed with the temptation to wake her. I wanted to be able to look into those dazzling emerald orbs and once again assure myself that she would be okay, that she _was_ okay.

But I wouldn't. I would let her sleep because I didn't have the heart to tear her away from the impenetrable serenity that she must have found there.

I heard the nurse return, and sighed sadly to myself. With my own, I lifted Peyton's hand to my lips and kissed the back of it, like I had done so many times before. "I'll see you soon," I promised, then disentangled myself from her and stood up.

The cold was shocking, even through my sweatshirt. I figured it was due to more than just the temperature.

I gave Peyton one last glance, noticing the way her face seemed to have changed since I'd left her just seconds ago. It wasn't troubled, but it wasn't nearly as relaxed as it had been while I was lying beside her.

In the hall, I quietly thanked the nurse for allowing me to stay with Peyton overnight, and she told me that Rachel was on her way. I nodded, and without an escort, made my way back to the front of the hospital.

xxxxxxxxxx

We were mostly silent on the way home. Actually, we were completely silent. Rachel didn't say anything, and I wasn't about to fire up a conversation. The quiet followed us through the front door, up the stairs and into the bedroom. It seemed appropriate. It fit well with the cold and the grayness outside, that time in the morning when the sun just begins to peak over the hilltops.

It was appropriate, but so very unsettling at the same time.

I didn't bother changing before I crawled into my neatly made bed. With my hands tucked into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, I wrapped my arms around myself, slightly annoyed with the awkwardness of the cast around my wrist.

The thoughts dragging sluggishly through my mind were blurry, barely understandable, and yet they affected me with an undeniable authority. They burdened me, weighed down on my already heavy shoulders.

Then the thoughts turned slowly into images, still blurry, but as the seconds ticked by, each one became clearer.

Peyton gagged and tied to a chair in her basement.

Me, gasping as _he_ held a knife to my neck.

Peyton playing him, hitting me, kissing him.

Then all the truly horrifying pictures, the ones that would always be there, haunting me, mocking me. Killing me.

Peyton lying motionless beneath _him_, her face as she whispered my name, her gray eyes as she was being raped by that monster.

Then the new memories, the fresh ones in the front of my mind that sent unpleasant chills down my spine.

Rachel was behind me beneath the covers before the first tear fell. She wrapped her slender around me, just in time for the water works. My body retracted, curling into ball as I began to weep, this being the first real chance I'd gotten to really let the events from last night sink in.

Why?

Why me? Why _Peyton_? Out of all the young women in North Carolina, why did that psycho choose Peyton to stalk? Why did he decide to deface, perhaps even end, _her_ life? She had already seen enough darkness in her seventeen years.

Unfair, that's what it was.

Because life _isn't_ fair, that was why.

"I don't know, Brooke." Rachel's voice was soft behind me, just above a whisper.

Had I said the question out loud?

I just cried harder, my cheeks already saturated with my tears. I felt pressure on my shoulder. She was urging me to turn over, and I didn't even have to think before I was obeying. She pulled me close and I let myself get swept up in the comfort of her embrace.

Several minutes passed in such a fashion. I cried into her bare shoulder while she held me and softly rubbed my back – she was always sure to never get too high due to the heinous, unwanted tattoo scrawled across the skin from one shoulder blade to the other.

"Did they take him?" I asked timidly once my crying had slowed to nothing but a slow stream of silent tears.

I was thankful that I didn't need to elaborate on my inquiry.

"Yea, they were just leaving when I came back. They took him to the hospital."

My body involuntarily went stiff with this news.

"The hospital?" I repeated in astonishment, well, as much astonishment as my weak voice could allow.

Why the hell did they take that fiend to the hospital? Shouldn't he have been taken straight to jail? To the police department?

Peyton was in that hospital. _I_ was in that hospital when they brought him in.

I fought to keep the bile from rising in my throat.

"He needed surgery to remove the bullet before they could incarcerate him," Rachel explained, but I still wasn't satisfied.

"They should have let him bleed to death," I said bitterly.

Rachel just nodded her head. Even though she didn't say it out loud, I knew that she agreed.

Another couple of moments passed between us. I took advantage of the chance to once again get control of my emotions – something I was beginning to get good at. I wasn't crying anymore. My eyes were downcast, watching the fingers of my right hand twiddle with a loose string on the top of the bed spread.

"Thank you, Rachel," I whispered, keeping my gaze away from hers.

I'd never felt this weak in my life. Even before, during our little escapade, I hadn't felt _this_ vulnerable. But now it was blatantly obvious to me that I could no longer take care of myself the way I used to. I was more dependent on Rachel than I had ever been on either of my parents. Even more so than I had been on Lucas when we were together.

"You saved me last night." I finally let my eyes find hers, less than six inches away.

She just smiled.

"You've been saving me for days," I added admittedly, then followed it with a sigh that I could only label pathetic.

Rachel held me a little tighter. "I'm here for you." Her face was serious as she said it with an unquestionable conviction.

"I know," I replied softly, staring into her eyes intensely for a few brief seconds before nuzzling my head into the crook of her neck, where I felt safe enough to fall into a light sleep.

xxxxxxxxxx

The nurse had said that with any luck, Peyton would be able to leave the next day. Apparently, luck wasn't on her side. When I called the hospital, they told me that her stats were fine, but that the doctor wanted to keep Peyton for one more day, just to make sure she wouldn't relapse back into a coma. So I spent as much of that day with her as I could, sitting beside her bed, sometimes on top of it, and just talked with her. I told her all about Rachel and Mouth's story, how they ended up in Honeygrove, Texas, and how Mouth wound up in jail for falling asleep in the park – Rachel had not yet told me where Mouth was now, still answering all of my questions with "I'll let him tell you". I told her about the events that had taken place at Prom – Nathan and Haley's adventure with the D-W-Not-I car, my being voted Prom Queen.

I caught her up to our lives that had continued on in our absences without _really_ catching her up on mine.

They let me spend the night with her again, but also made me leave at the ass crack of dawn again.

But today, she was ready. They called Rachel's house shortly before noon, and since Lucas was at school, Rachel and I went to pick her up and bring her back here.

For the past week, Rachel had gone to the high school to get the work I had missed. I was able to keep up, for the most part, but I struggled with my calculus, as always. But Rachel insisted on helping me, and so the work got done.

Now it was my turn to help Peyton. She had missed nearly three weeks of school, like me, but unlike me, she had been in a coma for two of them. So I did my best to get her through as much of it as I could, and Rachel stepped in when I faltered. And before we knew it, it was after three and Lucas was coming by to pick up his girlfriend.

I hugged Peyton goodbye, wishing with absolutely no hope that I could just hold onto her forever, and keep her from leaving with Lucas. But as soon as I heard the gravel in the driveway crunching under the weight of Luke's car, I let go, bid Peyton a hasty farewell, then disappeared upstairs before Rachel opened the front door and let him inside.

I sat down on the edge of my bed, listening to the voices that drifted upstairs and through the bedroom door that I had forgotten to close.

The reunion was sweet. I didn't even have to see it to know that it was sweet.

"Oh, God, Peyton." Lucas's exasperated, unmistakably happy voice. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Luke."

Oh, please. She was in a coma. How could she miss him when she wasn't even conscious?

"How are you?" It was a timorous question, and a stupid one at that. I wanted to slap him for asking it.

"I think I'll be okay." I could hear the smile in her tone. She was so hopeful. I envied her optimism.

"You ready to go?" he asked. I could tell how pleased he was to have Peyton back. I knew he had missed her, probably as much as I had. But I knew that he didn't _need_ her the way I did. His very existence didn't depend on her. He was and always would be Lucas Scott, with or without Peyton Sawyer.

It took me a couple of minutes to realize how upset I had just gotten, listening to the exchange taking place downstairs. What was this? I felt bitter, even angry.

Jealous?

But of who?

And for what reason?

The front door shut with a slam that reverberated through the house, all the way to my ears. I jumped slightly, caught off guard by the suddenness of the sound.

In a daze, I listened to the soft thuds of Rachel's feet as she made her way up to our bedroom. She moved to sit next to me on the foot of my bed.

"You alright?"

I didn't know how to answer. I had no idea what to say, because I had no idea what these thoughts in my head meant. They made no sense to me, making me confused and even slightly disorientated. I felt as though I no longer knew which way was up. As though these thoughts in my head weren't even mine.

"Brooke?"

With that one word, that one sound, she kept me from drowning. I looked up at her and found myself shrugging.

"I think I'll be okay." I didn't sound like Peyton. There was no hope in my statement. I knew it was a lie, and considering the look on Rachel's face, I was pretty sure she knew it, too.

xxxxxxxxxx

"You sure you'll be fine without me?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I answered Rachel for the tenth time in the last half hour. I was sitting on my bed flipping through the latest issue of Vogue when Rachel finally came out of the bathroom. She looked stunning.

"You're one hundred percent positive?"

I groaned. "Yes, Rachel. For the thousandth time, I'll be fine. Chase is on his way over as we speak," I assured her. "Go. Get drunk, have sex. You deserve it."

I grinned at her softly, trying desperately to keep all my emotions hidden behind my sarcasm and my enthusiasm for her to finally take a night for herself. She had spent way too many nights in a row protecting me from the ghost that was my memory. I wanted her to do something for herself.

The truth was though, every time she asked me if I was going to be alright, I wanted to scream "no". Of course I wouldn't be alright. I _wasn't_ alright. And the fact that I had chosen to ask Chase to come keep me company was absolutely terrifying. I had no idea if I was ready to be alone with him again. But it had been an impulse. A power inside me that told me to call him, and I couldn't refuse it.

"You look great, now go," I said to Rachel with a pushy tone, glad to see that by the bright smile on her pretty face, I had convinced her that I wasn't petrified of what the evening was turning into.

"Fine then. I'll be back by midnight," she said as she made her way over to me. She bent over and hugged my head quickly, then added, "I promise."

I simply nodded and continued smiling as she left the room. If I didn't know any better, I would have said she was practically dancing.

With Rachel gone, I let my weariness wash over me and made my way to the bathroom. The girl that looked back at me from inside the mirror was hideous.

She had dark hair and hazel eyes, like me, but she looked… _dirty_. Not filthy dirty, but tainted, jaded. Her right cheek bone was painted purple and a sickly pale green. There were also bruises on the left side of her neck, not nearly as profound as the one on her face, but they were there nonetheless. I was sure that if she stripped away her baggy black sweatshirt and her red cotton shorts, I would see many more of the little dark spots marring her creamy skin.

I pulled a box of makeup towards me on the bathroom counter, and set to work to try and make the beast look as presentable as I could. I used concealer to fade the bruise, made it less startling, and used the essential eyeliner and mascara to try and make my sad eyes sparkle. When I was finished, I still wasn't entirely happy with my reflection, but it was better.

I'd decided not to change my clothes. Now that I had on some makeup and my hair was pulled up into a messy, bouncy pony tail, I was able to pull off the sweatshirt and shorts look. Plus, I figured it helped make it look like I wasn't trying too hard.

When the doorbell rang, I made my way slowly down the stairs, trying my best to appease my sore muscles.

"Hi, Chase," I said with as bright of a tone as I could when I opened the door. He smiled at me, and I smiled back before stepping aside and letting him in.

"So, thanks for coming," I said, leading him into the living room. He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. "Rachel just needed a night. You know how she is," I explained with a small smirk as I sat down on one end of the couch, curling my legs up underneath me.

"It's no problem, Brooke," he replied, following my lead and taking a seat in the middle of the couch. There was a decent three feet or so between. "I'm kind of surprised you called _me_ though."

I frowned, knowing well why he would feel that way. I hadn't exactly been Miss Daisy Sunshine the last time I saw him.

"I'm sorry about the way I was before," I started in, knowing that in order for anything to be normal between us, I needed to apologize. "I was just in bad shape, and I was angry with myself, and I was worried about Peyton." I shrugged, watching Chase carefully in hopes of finding forgiveness in his eyes. "It was really nice of you to come see me, and I should have been more grateful."

He smiled again. I took it as a good sign.

"And I was kind of hoping that what you said still applied…?" I let the sentence fall off, my pitch going higher to turn the statement into a question.

"Of course it does," he said without hesitation, his smile growing wider. "I can't judge you for what you did, Brooke, because I know you're not the same girl as the one in that video."

I was relieved by his words. I could feel the hope rising in me that I would actually be able to salvage this relationship.

Although I wasn't one hundred percent sure _why_ I so desperately needed that salvation.

"So, where does that leave us?" I asked cautiously.

He just continued to grin as he scooted closer to me. He reached out and slowly placed his hand on my shoulder. I remembered the last time he did it, how I'd shied away from his touch as if his skin burned mine. But I didn't lean away now. Instead, I leaned a little closer to him.

"I was kind of hoping it would leave us where we left off… if _you_ can forgive _me_ for what I did."

I didn't even answer. I didn't even think about what I was doing before I closed the gap between us and pressed my lips against his.

When he didn't pull away, I thought maybe it would be okay to deepen the kiss. My good hand moved to the back of his head, my fingers weaving through his soft, raven hair. I opened my mouth slightly and pressed against his lips a little harder.

Then, with his hands on my shoulders, he pushed me back at the same time as he pulled away.

"Wait, Brooke. What're you doing?"

That sounded familiar. But I answered differently this time. Instead of sounding scared or confused, I spoke with a husky determination. I had no idea what was coming over me.

"Picking up where we left off."

With my hand at the back of his neck, I pulled him back to me, pleased when, this time, he didn't make me stop.

xxxxxxxxxx

The water that cascaded down my bare body was hot, probably too hot, but I felt like I needed it. Like the immense, scorching heat was the only way I could ever be clean again.

It was late, and Chase had left quite some time ago, leaving me all alone. But I didn't call Rachel. I didn't want to tear her away from her night out. And I didn't want to be _that_ needy.

But I really, truly hated it, being alone. It was like I was back in that hospital bed, and all I could do was think. But I didn't want to think. I didn't want to remember. I didn't want to feel. But most of all, I didn't want to hurt anymore. I was tired of the darkness, and I was tired of crying. I was tired of feeling helpless. I just wanted it all to stop, to just go away.

But it only got worse now that I was left with no one but myself.

I turned off the shower and stepped out of it, wrapping a towel around myself. The mirror was fogged over with steam. I kind of liked it that way. I liked not having to see my revolting reflection.

I didn't look up until I'd taken four or five steps into the bedroom, but once I did, I wished I hadn't.

Sitting there on the end of my bed was Peyton. I jumped back, startled by her sudden appearance, and nearly dropped the towel from around my body. It only made me hold it tighter.

"Sorry," she apologized quickly, standing up, but she didn't come closer. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I barely heard her. I was too mortified that she was here. I hadn't expected her. I wasn't ready for her. I stood there in nothing but a towel, dripping water on the hard wood floor of the bedroom.

I needed to get out of there. My eyes darted back and forth between Peyton and the door. If I tried to walk out of the room, she would see my back, which was currently sans bandage. If I made any wrong move, I could expose a bruise that I was pretty sure couldn't pass as three weeks old.

The only other option was to shuffle back into the bathroom, but how obvious would that be? Surely Peyton would be able to tell that something was up. She wasn't an idiot, even if she _had_ bought my story about Rachel hitting me.

I realized that almost a minute had passed since Peyton had spoken, so I quickly swallowed the lump in my throat.

"What are you doing here?" It wasn't until then that I noticed she was sopping wet. Her clothes clung to her body like a second layer of skin. "And why are you drenched?"

I couldn't help but notice that she looked nervous. She was unconsciously picking at the fingernails of her left hand with the fingers on her right, watching me hesitantly with her beautiful green eyes.

"It's pouring outside," she started. I turned my head and looked at the window, surprised to find it splattered with rain drops. "I didn't bother to put the top up on my car."

Why not? Had she been in a hurry? I looked back at her skeptically.

"I was wondering if your offer to stay here still stands?"

I breathed a soft sigh of relief, although I made sure to keep my composure. I didn't want to accidentally let her see something that needed to stay hidden.

"Of course, Peyton," I answered, trying to lace some astonishment into my voice, as if she was silly for even having to ask the question. "But, why?" I couldn't stop myself from asking. "I thought you were staying with Lucas?"

I saw her swallow hard. Her breathing was a little quicker than it should have been.

"I am," she replied hastily. "I was." She shook her head and sat back down, her wet curls falling around her face as she stared at the floor.

I started to worry, but I remained where I was, afraid that if I got too close, she would see.

"What happened, Peyton?" I asked carefully, my voice quiet and unmistakably grave.

She looked up at me, and I wished I could tell if those were drops of rain on her cheeks, or if they were tears.

_Peyton_

_I had been doing schoolwork for hours, it seemed. Lucas was great. Even when I asked him not to, he persistently helped me with all of it. But even after what must have been eight or so hours of non-stop homework, I still felt like I was so far behind that I would never catch up._

_But it was late now. We had decided to set the work aside for the rest of the night and just relax. We spent half an hour or so just lying on his bed. I relished in how wonderful it felt to be wrapped up in Lucas's arms again, and I could tell he felt the same way._

_He was showering now, so that he wouldn't have to do it in the morning. He told me that I could read the first chapter of his book, if I wanted to. I was surprised by that, considering he had been so dead-set in keeping it away from my curious eyes before. But I figured there was little he'd say no to at this point, after all that had happened. All he wanted was to make me happy._

_So I sat at his desk, reading off the laptop in front of me. The first page alone had me hooked, it was enthralling and interesting and I wanted nothing more than to read it till the end. But I couldn't. Focusing on the small print really paid a toll on my head. I didn't even make it through the second page before I pushed the laptop away and let my head fall onto the desk, buried in my arms._

_My head was killing me now. The doctors said that would happen, but that it would go away eventually. They told me everything concerning my condition, what had happened and what they had done while I was in a coma._

_I still wasn't really over the fact that I had been unconscious for two weeks. Fourteen days of my life, gone. I knew it was silly, but I wasn't okay with it. Those were two weeks I would never get back. Two weeks during which I was no better than dead. _

_But then again, maybe it was better that I'd been asleep for the worst part of my recovery. I hadn't had to deal with the worst part of the pain, or the memories. _

_Unlike Brooke, who had only gotten a couple days of rest before the world came tumbling down on her._

_I felt horrible for her. I could tell that she wasn't over it. I could see that she wasn't even really on the _way_ to being over it. It made me upset and confused at the same time. Upset because it never would have happened if it weren't for me, and confused because of her weakness, and her vulnerability._

_I had never, _never_, seen Brooke Davis so weak in my entire life. Two days ago, when she'd come to visit me in the hospital for the first time since I had woken up, she looked more broken than I ever could have imagined. Not just physically, but mentally. Of course, she had tried to hide it. She'd tried to keep her sadness from showing for my sake. But I was able to see right through it, as always._

_Even yesterday, and today, she seemed like she was always on guard. It was like there was a line around everything she said and did, and if she crossed that line, her entire world would just… crumble. I could see how cautious she was with her words and her actions, how she did everything with a certain preciseness. _

_She'd never been that way before._

_She was hiding something from me. Maybe even more than one something. But I was just as afraid of breaking her as she was afraid of breaking me, as afraid as she was of breaking herself. So I didn't say anything. Eventually, she would either break down and tell me, or she would be strong enough for me to confront her about it. But I wasn't going to push her, not now._

_The biggest question weighing down on my already troubled mind was _why_ Brooke was so weak. She had always been one of the strongest, most independent people I knew. Why couldn't she get passed this? Why was _I_ recovering so quickly when she wasn't?_

_Perhaps part of it had to do with the fact that I couldn't remember it all. Actually, there really wasn't a whole lot that I _did_ remember. Basically, I only knew for certain that it happened. But I couldn't recall any of the details. The recap in my mind plays up until the part when Derek effing head butted me. Then it all turned into one big blur._

_I didn't even know that Brooke had been… well, a part of it until the nurses told me. And as soon as that information registered, I had pretty much wished I was dead. Brooke had gone through hell and back, and it was because of me._

_I felt like a monster because of it._

_Two large hands on my shoulders suddenly jarred me from my pondering, and I shot out of the chair like a horse leaving the gate. The quick movement caused my head to ache even more in protest and I stumbled to sit down on the edge of Lucas's bed._

"_God, I'm sorry, Peyton. I didn't mean to scare you," Luke said._

_With my hand pressing into the side of it, I shook my head, closing my eyes in hopes of squeezing the pain out my ears, or something._

"_No, it's okay," I assured him. The fact that I was in a severe amount of pain was obvious in my voice. I felt Lucas sit down beside me and scoot himself up to the head of the bed._

"_Come here," he said, and I looked over my shoulder at him. He was gesturing with his hands for me to obey, and so I did._

_I backed my way up in between his legs and focused on the plaid print of his pajama bottoms as he began to gently rub my neck._

"_Does that help?"_

"_Mhm," was my simple response, closing my eyes and allowing my head to fall forward a little. The pressure applied by his fingers really did help subdue the pain in my head._

"_A little harder," I requested, finding that the greater the pressure, the greater the relief._

_Lucas complied, and one of his hands slipped up into my hair to massage the back of my skull. A soft groan escaped my throat, voicing my approval. _

_After a minute or so, an irrefutable need washed over me, and I was powerless against it. I found myself speaking before I even had time to comprehend the thought process that went along with it._

"_Kiss me, Luke," I whispered, leaning back a little, into his body._

"_What?" he asked softly, but I could hear the trepidation in his voice._

"_Kiss me," I repeated, pressing myself against his front side a little harder, craning my neck to the side enough so I could look up into his face as he stared down at me. _

"_I need to feel you, Lucas," I whispered. I didn't really know how else to explain the overwhelming urge that had taken control of me. I didn't know who it was that was speaking these words, or who it was that was controlling my body. All I knew was that I needed him._

_He hesitated briefly before leaning his head down and pressing his lips against mine. It was soft and careful, sweet really, but I wanted more. With my good hand at the back of his head, I pulled him closer and parted my lips, urging him to deepen the kiss. He seemed to take the hint, and was quick to open his mouth and find my tongue with his._

_It was the first time in a long time that we kissed like this. And it wasn't until now that I realized how much I had missed it, how much I had missed the feel of his lips fervent against mine and the taste of his lips, his tongue. _

_It was like a goddamn revelation and the need to explore it was stronger than ever._

_He broke his lips away from mine, his breathing now ragged, as was mine. His arms were around my waist, his gentle hands exploring the front of my body. I was jello under his touch – I always had been. _

_Lucas dragged his lips down to my neck, causing my chest to move up and down even faster as that inexplicable need grew within me._

"_God, Luke," I breathed, my hands now on his thighs, squeezing the material of his bottoms between my fingers. _

_His lips on my neck were amazing, but I still needed so much more._

_As if he'd read my mind, Lucas's hands found the hem of my Pink Floyd tee shirt and pulled it up my body. I was relieved when I wasn't flooded with self consciousness, now completely topless in his arms._

_We had never had sex before, Lucas and I. And this wasn't exactly how I imagined our first time would go. But I couldn't stop myself. There was such an urgency raging through my body, screaming at me, telling me than I needed him like I'd never needed anyone before._

_But my doubts were lost as he fingers swept my hair off my back and over my shoulder. I leaned forward as his lips brushed against my upper back. They moved with a purpose, and it only took me a matter of seconds to realize that he was tracing my scars._

_With tears in my eyes, I quickly turned so I was facing him and captured his lips with mine in a burning kiss. I tried desperately to pour everything I was thinking, everything I was feeling into that kiss._

_Several minutes later I was lying on top of him in nothing but my black boy shorts, and Lucas was left only in his boxer-briefs. My weight was fully on him, my body pressed flush against his. His hands were never in the same place for very long, roaming any and everywhere from the back of my head to the small of my back._

_As my hands ran down his sides and grasped onto the wasteband of his briefs, he suddenly pulled his lips away from mine._

_I stopped and stared down at him, my brows furrowed in confusion._

"_My mom's just down the hall," he said with obvious disappointment._

_I was glad that his mother was the reason for his hesitation. I had feared it might have been because of me, because of what had happened to me._

"_So we'll be quiet," I whispered, lowering my lips to his ear, pulling his lobe between my teeth playfully before laying wet kisses down the side of his neck._

_The deep groan that met my ears was more than enough assurance that he wanted this as much as I did._

_So with my lips now at the hollow of his throat, I continued my work removing his underwear. Once it was around his knees, Lucas finished the job for me, before doing the same to me._

"_Condem?" I whispered huskily against his throat._

"_Night stand," he answered quickly and breathlessly. "Top drawer."_

_Once the protection was securely in place, I hovered above him, holding myself up with my arms._

_He smiled softly up at me. God, he was so beautiful. I smiled back._

_But then, with his arms wrapped around me, he flipped us over, so I was lying on my back with him on top of me._

_My breath hitched in my throat._

_He hungrily kissed the side of my neck, sucking on a pulse point that made my blood boil._

_But suddenly, it wasn't a good thing._

_He settled himself between my legs. "Lucas," I rasped out. I was sure that the panic in my voice would be reflected in my face if I were to look into a mirror._

"_I love you so much, Peyton," he answered simply, his lips still moving against my neck._

_He didn't get it. This was _not_ okay, and he didn't get that._

"_Luke," I said again, this time with a bit more urgency as I felt him reach between us to guide himself inside me._

_Tears burst to my eyes. I was frantic at this point, but he couldn't see it. He was mistaking my terror for ecstasy. _

"_Stop!" I finally cried when I felt his tip at my entrance. With my hands on his chest, I shoved him off of me and slid out from under him. I jumped off the bed, hoping that Lucas wouldn't be able to see the tears on my cheeks as I hurriedly snatched up my clothing and threw it on._

"_Peyton?" he called from the bed. He was confused, and hurt. I could hear it with ease. "What happened?" Yea, definitely confused. "Did I do something wrong?"_

"_No, Luke, it's not you," I said with a shaky voice as my eyes scanned his bedroom for my car keys. He had gone by my house earlier to pick it up and bring it here._

"_I think I should go." I wiped at the tears on my face and grabbed my keys off his desk, doing everything I could to avoid looking at him._

"_Peyton!" he said again._

_I wished I could have explained it to him. I wished that I could sit down and tell him that, unfortunately, it wasn't going to be as easy as I had originally thought. That, maybe, it would never work, what we'd just tried to do, because when he was on top of me, getting ready to make love to me, my mind instantly conjured up images of Derek and thoughts of what he'd done to me._

_I wished that I could have told him that lying underneath him like that, naked and vulnerable, had petrified me._

_But I couldn't._

"_I have to go," I said again, before hurrying out his door and into the cold, dreary night._

_Brooke_

My eyes went wide with dawning comprehension as Peyton finished her story.

"Oh."

**xxxxxxxxxx**

**Ah, I so just want to keep writing this chapter! But it's got to break off somewhere, and I kind of like ending it with something as simple as an "oh" after all that drama, haha. And I hope the Peyton pov scene worked well. I tried to make it a really smooth transition. (:**

**So, **_**potentially **_**up next on LMTS, some serious Brooke/Peyton action – no, not intimate action, just drama, haha. Brooke finally faces a fear. And perhaps a visit from a less used character, possibly Haley. I don't know. Tehe. **

**Thanks for sticking with it guys! And thanks so much for the great reviews!**


	11. It's Never About What It's About

**Holy crap guys, I am soooo sorry it has taken me so long to update. I promise I haven't forgotten about this story! It's just getting' good, so of course, I have absolutely no intention of abandoning it or putting it on hold. These last couple weeks have just been cuh-razy for me. I moved out and into college – a huge move, I might add. I've been living in the dorm for a week and a day now, and I absolutely love it. BUT the downside is that I've had essentially NO time to write. But I've been getting into LMTS any chance I get and used tonight to my fullest advantage to write like a fiend so that I could get this chapter up. (: I've read most of it several times, but I'm not proofreading it now 'cuz I so badly want to get it up for all of you. So if there are any nasty errors, I apologize.**

**Oh and another thing, this chapter is very fast-paced, and I normally don't like writing like that, but like I said, I was dying to get it up. d:**

**With that, here's the next chaptah. Do enjoy!**

**xxxxxxxxxx**

It was kind of shocking, hearing these words from Peyton. It was like she was reading text out of a book, written first hand by my own memory.

I told her it was okay. I told her that I had more or less been through the same thing, although I conveniently left out who I had been through it with. She seemed to find comfort in that fact, that she wasn't the only one.

I knew that I found comfort in the fact that _I_ wasn't the only one.

At some point, around an hour after she'd arrived, we were lying in my bed together, snug under the covers. I sat up against the head pillows with Peyton in my arms, her head resting comfortably on my chest. We'd been silent for quite some time, just reveling in the calm that we found in each other.

"Hey, Brooke." Her voice was quiet, the timidity apparent in her tone.

"Yea?" I urged her softly. My right hand was softly stroking her damp curls.

"Tell me about Prom."

My brow furrowed instantly. What did she mean by that?

"What?"

"Tell me about Prom," she repeated, not even close to answering my question.

I had no idea what she was referring to. She helped set up Prom. She knew I wasn't there for more than ten minutes. Why was she asking me this?

My silence must have conveyed my confusion.

"I can't really remember it all."

I looked down at her then, wondering what in the world could possess her to want to know if she couldn't already remember.

I would have given anything to be able to just forget it all. To have no recollection of what happened.

"Why?" I whispered, honestly dumbfounded as to why she would want to know.

She hesitated and shifted slightly within my embrace.

"Please, Brooke."

My breath hitched. How could I refuse her?

"What do you want to know?" I asked. It wasn't intentional, but my voice was quiet and cautious, like I was speaking about something forbidden.

"I don't know," she replied, her voice as soft and careful as mine. Even though I continued to stare down at her in mild disbelief, she seemed to refuse to look back at me. Her eyes remained straight ahead of her. "The last thing I remember was running up the stairs. You were still tied up in the basement."

Instantly, my mind conjured up images of that night, pictures I'd for so long been trying to block out. I went stiff and shut my eyes, trying to bring myself back to the present whilst strong hands began pulling me back to that night, back to that basement where I could have easily lost my life.

Peyton. Blonde hair, green eyes. Peyton.

It wasn't working. The hands were pulling harder now, fighting against my will to forget. I was upstairs now, back on that bathroom floor. Then in Rachel's living room. All I could see was _his_ face.

I tried desperately to think of only Peyton. I concentrated on her features; her lopsided, white smile; her amazing emerald eyes; her soft pink lips.

My breath returned to me and I managed to pry my eyes open and actually see her face. It all happened in a matter of seconds. I was so terrified of how easily I fell into darkness. How quickly I lost control of my own consciousness.

I struggled to recompose myself in order to actually answer Peyton's question. I looked away, even though all I wanted to do was lose myself in the ignorant bliss that came with simply staring at my best friend.

I cleared my throat softly before speaking. "Well, after he ran up after you, I did everything I could to free my hands," I started, fighting off the scene that so desperately wanted to replay itself in my head. "But it was so hard, and I was so scared of what he might do to you that I had trouble even keeping them from shaking."

"It was ten minutes, maybe more than that, before I got out and made my way upstairs. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen, then went to your bedroom, and…"

I trailed off, my voice losing itself somewhere in my throat. I could see it so clearly, even though I didn't want to. It was still so fresh, even after so much time.

"And…" I tried again, but I couldn't even bring myself to think it, let alone say it out loud.

It wasn't until then that I realized Peyton was finally looking up at me. I saw her out the corner of my eye and was almost startled by the sudden appearance of her dazzling green eyes. But I fought off the shock and tried to find courage in the silence.

"He was on top of you," I choked out, still keeping my gaze averted from Peyton's. "So I did the only thing I could think to do. I stabbed him in the back."

That sentence was a painful one for so many reasons. I saw Peyton look away and I knew she thought the same thing.

I continued to fight against every instinct screaming at me to stop digging up all the horrid memories in order to fill Peyton in. By the time I was finished, she had taken up her previous position in staring somewhere across the room. Silence had fallen over us once again, and before long I found myself suffocating because of it.

"You saved me," she whispered.

I wished so badly that I could read her thoughts. Even just see her face so that I might read her expression, maybe even see the thoughts in her eyes.

"You _sacrificed_ yourself, for me."

I didn't have to see the tears to know that she was crying. I could hear them in her voice.

"I didn't know what else to do," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders softly. "I couldn't let him keep… hurting you like that."

My muscles had been tense ever since I began retelling the events of that night, but they seemed even tighter now.

"I wish you wouldn't have-"

I sat up a little, even with her practically on top of me. But I couldn't stop myself from interrupting her. "Peyton, I couldn't just-"

"I wish you wouldn't have," she insisted, her green eyes, glazed over, finding my hazel ones. "But thank you."

My lips pressed together in a thin line as I looked down at her. I didn't say anything. I didn't know what I could say to something like that. _You're welcome_? How stupid would that sound? _You're welcome, Peyton, for letting him rape me so he'd stop raping you._

Instead of saying anything, I just kissed the top of her head and remained silent.

A couple hours later, Peyton was sleeping soundly in my arms while I just sat there, running my fingers through her messy mop of blond curls. As much as I wanted to fall asleep beside her, I couldn't. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw _his_ face. So I simply kept them open. I opted instead to just watch Peyton as she slumbered, reminiscing our friendship and all the great times we'd had together.

I was in the middle of replaying a memory of the two of us in the sixth grade – Peyton slapped a boy in our class for making fun of the size of my chest – when Rachel finally came home. I could tell by the look on her face when she walked into our bedroom that she was surprised, but I wasn't sure if it was because I was still awake or because of my unexpected visitor.

"Hey, Rach," I whispered, but loudly enough so that she would be able to hear it.

"Hey," she replied, already getting over her shock and taking off her jacket as she made her way to the closet. "Late night booty call?"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't stop the small grin from crossing my lips.

"She had a rough night with Lucas," I corrected her. I could no longer see Rachel, but I knew that she was still listening. "Nothing huge," I added with what I hoped was nonchalance. I didn't want to go broadcasting Peyton's little incident with Lucas. "She just asked if she could crash here."

"Sure, whatever," was Rachel's half-hearted response.

"So how was your date?" I asked, honestly curious.

"It was okay."

"Just okay?"

"The guy was kind of dull, not to mention we kind of got interrupted."

"What?" I asked, confused. What did she mean 'interrupted'?

"Yea, I got a call from the police station. They wanted to see me."

I swallowed hard, nervous as to why the police would want to speak with Rachel. "Why?" I asked timidly, even though I was pretty sure I didn't want to know.

"Apparently, there's a chance I could be tried for attempted murder."

My mouth fell open involuntarily. The casualty with which she said it was almost as appalling as the statement itself. It took all my strength not to get up and start yelling, even if my anger wasn't toward Rachel. But I reminded myself of the sleeping Peyton whose head rested on my chest. It kept me from moving.

"Are you serious?" I whispered hoarsely and harshly, expressing my agitation with this new information.

"Mhmm."

"But why? It was self-defense!" I was seriously struggling to keep my voice reasonably quiet.

"Derek-" I cringed inwardly – "aka Ian Banks, is telling a different story. He says that I 'had control of the situation' and that I 'knew what I was doing' when I shot him."

I could hear the annoyance in her voice. She wasn't as okay with it as she originally let on, and rightfully so.

I was just about to ask another question when she beat me to the answer. "And I guess they have to take into consideration every witness's account."

This was unbelievable. They were really considering the possibility that Rachel intended to murder _him_…

But I saw it happen. I could tell them the truth. I could save her…

If it even came down to that.

I prayed that it wouldn't.

xxxxxxxxxx

I swallowed hard, aggravated with Rachel and her useless attempts to get me to stop drinking and actually talk. But I didn't want to talk, and I sure as hell didn't want to stop drinking.

I had spent the entire night watching Peyton sleep in serenity. I had spent the entire night wishing I could be as strong as she was. Wishing my problems were as minimal as hers.

Sure, she wasn't able to have sex with Lucas. So what? I'd been there. Maybe our situations weren't exactly the same, but the thought process behind them were pretty damn close. I had felt the inexplicable need to be touched, just like Peyton had. But instead of going to Chase, or some other guy, I went to Rachel. There was a chance that I only went to Rachel because she was there at the moment the need took hold of me, but I wasn't positive. But one thing was for sure. There was a big difference between Rachel and Lucas when it came to what Peyton and I needed.

And well, let's just say I didn't exactly blame Peyton for freaking out the way she had.

But this morning, when Peyton woke up, she said something that more or less shocked me.

"_I think I'm going to run by the school today."_

I was taken aback. She had only been awake for a matter of days. She'd only had a short amount of time to cope with everything that had happened, and already she wanted to go back to school. She was ready to face our friends and our teachers and our peers, whereas every day I hid out in Rachel's house, too petrified of the outside world and everyone in it. I envied her with such fervor I could almost feel my heart aching.

Then, of course, there was the whole Rachel being held accountable for the near death of _him_.

So naturally, I wasn't exactly feeling peachy that morning when Peyton left me.

Shortly before noon, I started the drinking.

I knew beforehand how utterly pathetic the picture would look. Poor Brookie, home alone cradling her precious bottle of alcohol. But I didn't let that stop me. I needed to feel out of my mind. I craved the numbness. I just wanted to forget, even if only for a little while.

By six-thirty, when Rachel came home, I had already burned through one bottle of Smirnoff's finest and was starting my second. She found me upstairs, curled up at the head of my bed, hugging a pillow to my chest and flipping through an old photo album.

"Hey Skank," I greeted her dimly, not bothering to look up. My eyes were focused on a photograph of me and my father. I must have been four, maybe five. I sat on his shoulders, the Burning Boat floating, engulfed in flames, behind us in the bay. I looked so happy.

"Haven't heard that in a while," Rachel replied. I could hear the skepticism in her voice, but I figured it was justified. We hadn't used our degrading names for each other since our reunion in the hospital.

I didn't respond, because in all honesty, I had no idea what to say.

I looked up in time to see Rachel cross the room and sit across from me on the edge of her bed. Her eyes fell from mine. I knew what she was looking at.

"You've been drinking."

It wasn't a question.

I snickered a little and nodded. "Just a li'l," I said.

"Why?"

"Why not?" I retorted, shrugging my shoulders slightly.

There was a brief pause of silence. My gaze returned to the photo album in my lap and I turned the page. The pictures were obviously in no specific order, considering these new photos were taken years after the one of me and my dad. Peyton was in these. I could tell by her hair that they were taken shortly after Anna Sawyer passed away – I had helped Peyton her cut her curls up to her chin, so that they wouldn't remind her of her mom.

"It's pretty pathetic, Brooke."

"So what?!" I snapped, my head jerking up swiftly so I could stare at her with anger.

She fell silent after that, and I was satisfied that she had let it go.

Not too much later after Rachel left me alone, I heard a new voice floating in through the open bedroom door.

"You don't look broody or anything, sitting alone at the top of the stairs with your head in yours hands."

"Shut up, Blondie."

"Would you mind staying here while I go get my sketch book? This picture would make a great addition to Peyton Sawyer's All-Things-Depressing vault."

"Do you think your head would make a great addition, too?"

"Point taken. So what _are_ you doing?"

Rachel groaned. "Oh, it's Brooke."

"What? What about her?" The concern was evident in Peyton's voice, but it didn't make me feel _special_ like it normally would.

"She's wasted-" I smiled complacently to myself- "And I can't get her to stop drinking. She won't even talk to me."

I heard Peyton sigh, but I didn't really care.

"Wait, where have you been all day?"

"I went to school."

"Last I checked, school got out at three, not seven." I liked Rachel's tone, it was sarcastic, and almost condescending, as if she were going to punish Peyton for being late.

"The hospital called." I couldn't stop myself from perking up a little at that, but when she continued, I relaxed and took another drink. "I got my cast taken off. After that I went to Nathan and Haley's. Haley is helping me study for finals."

"But what about Brooke?"

Yea, what about me?

"She's not exactly Albert Einstein, Rachel."

I nodded in agreement. My shiny, chestnut hair was much nicer than his horribly damaged, wiry white hair.

"And we don't have all the same classes." There was a certain edge to her voice, but I wasn't really sure what it was, or why it was there. Not that I cared.

"Okay, whatever. Will you please just try to talk to her?" Rachel sounded annoyed. Maybe even worried. I felt guilty for that. Well, sort of. "Maybe you can get through to her."

A minute or so later, Peyton entered the bedroom.

I was sitting on the floor between mine and Rachel's beds, leaning back against the nightstand. My second bottle was about half empty now as it hung loosely from my good hand. I was too out of it to even think about throwing on a sweatshirt over my spaghetti strap shell. The fact that my apparel would reveal nearly ever cut and bruise didn't even register.

I didn't say anything as I did my best to focus on her moving figure. She sat down beside me, and I slowly turned my head to stare at her. She stared back. I could see something foreign in her emerald eyes. Anger? No, disappointment? Disapproval? I really wasn't sure.

"What're you doing, Brooke?" she asked. Disapproval, for sure. The tone of voice matched that look in her eyes perfectly.

"Drinking," I replied simply, holding the bottle out to her. "Wannajoin?" My words were slurred, but I didn't notice.

She looked from me, to the bottle, then back again. "You know I don't like vodka straight."

I simply shrugged and retracted my arm. "Okay, more ferme."

"You're being pathetic, Brooke." She sounded so nasty when she said it, like she was reprimanding me. I merely rolled my eyes.

"So I've heard," I said, my voice quieter, then took another long swig. The clear liquid was fire as it flooded down my throat, but I welcomed the burn. I worshipped it.

"You're better than this." Peyton's voice was softer, too, now, but just as severe as before. I could tell how serious she was, but I couldn't have cared less. "You're _stronger_ than this."

That one word set me off. It was half the reason I started drinking in the first place. Hell, it was the majority reason. Strength. Peyton had it and I didn't, and I was jealous of her for it. Not only was I jealous, but I wished I could take it from her as well. Just steal it right out from under her so she could know how it felt to be so weak. I was disgusted with myself for wishing such a thing, but I couldn't help but want it.

"Obviously not, Peyton!" I shot back, my voice rising in volume. I quickly stood up, unable to sit so close to her whilst so upset with her. I took several steps away before turning around to continue. I didn't even think about the way her eyes had gone wide and her mouth hung open slightly. "I've been awake for weeks now and still can't bring myself to go to school!" I started. I was shouting now, my eyes glazed over with tears that did not fall. "I can't sleep alone at night without being terrorized by nightmares of _him_!" I pointed at no one in particular. "Hell, I can't be alone at all without feeling petrified!"

Peyton stood up then, but I didn't move. I was sobbing at that point, the tears running freely down my cheeks. I didn't notice, however, that my entire body was trembling. I wasn't sure how, or why, but I felt completely sober, even though I had consumed a bottle and a half of hard liquor. But there were so many emotions raging through my veins that I was helpless against the sensitivity and the sudden awareness.

She stepped closer to me, until she was standing directly in front of me. Her face was tear-stained as well and at long last, the guilt caught up with me. I wanted to apologize for my stupidity, and for making her hurt like this. But I wouldn't. I couldn't.

I continued to cry silently as Peyton stepped around me. I wasn't sure what she was doing, until I felt the tip of her finger against my upper back. My eyes went wide with horror.

"Brooke, what is this?" It was almost a whisper, and her voice was noticeably shaky. Her finger continued to trace the letters on my back. I felt as though I was about to pass out due to the anxiety.

I didn't know what to say. I had no idea how to answer. I wanted to come up with some clever lie, anything to get me out of explaining the truth. But my mind came up blank. So I just stood there, crying harder and harder as her finger finished its journey across my shoulder blades.

She didn't stop there, unfortunately. She continued to seek out every other scratch, every other bruise. She touched my neck, my upper arm, my cheek, until she was once again standing in front of me.

There were fresh tears on her face now, and they continued falling, as did mine. I wanted nothing more than to make it all stop. I was so sick of crying, and I was so sick of being afraid. I just wanted to feel normal again. I just wanted to be Brooke Davis, but she seemed so irrefutably out of reach. She was impossible to attain.

My lip quivered just before I opened my mouth to speak. Her hand was no longer at the side of my face, and I couldn't tell if the lack of contact was a greater relief or disappointment.

"He came back," I whispered faintly as a sob wracked my sore body.

Just before I dropped my gaze from hers, I saw her eyes go wide once again. I couldn't bring myself to hold her stare. I was so ashamed, even though I knew shame wasn't what I should have been feeling. But there was also violation, fear, jadedness. Dirty. I felt disgustingly filthy. Suddenly so unworthy.

"Brooke," she whispered, enticing another sob. Half of me was demanding that I take a step back away from her and spare her my darkness, while the other half wanted so badly to share it with her, to let her carry some of the weight.

When her fingers brushed against my forearm, I let the latter half win. I fell into her embrace and she held me tightly against her as I wept.

The next thing I knew, we were on the floor. I wasn't sure how much time had passed. I wasn't sure when Peyton started stroking my hair soothingly. I wasn't sure how long ago I'd let go of the bottle of vodka. I wasn't sure at what point I'd stopped crying. I knew nothing, but the weakness felt insignificant to the rest. It was something I'd become unwillingly accustomed to.

She didn't make me talk. She didn't ask what happened, or why it happened. She didn't even mention _him_, and I was glad. I let her help me up off the floor, let her lay me into my bed, where she crawled in next to me and continued to hold me close.

The situation was becoming so disturbingly familiar, and I hated myself for it. I hated how truly weak I was. I loathed myself for allowing my strength to leave me in such a noticeable way. And I was irritated at myself for not finding, for not even _trying _to find it. I despised the person I had become, and yet I continued to be that person.

So much was wrong, and I had no idea what to do to fix it.

Again, I found myself with no sense of time at all. I didn't know how long we'd be lying like that, and I couldn't give a reason as to why I hadn't fallen asleep. But at some point, I lifted my head in order to look Peyton squarely in the face.

"Thank you," I whispered. It was barely there, almost inaudible. I hadn't the slightest clue what I was thanking her for. But I was once again being taken control over by a mysterious impulse.

And before my mind even had time to comprehend what my body was doing, I was tilting my head and leaning up towards her so that I could press my lips softly against hers.There were no thoughts. No voice telling me that what I was doing was wrong and just downright ridiculous. I just did it.

I kissed Peyton Sawyer.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

**Well I hope that was worth that crazy wait. I promise the next update won't take nearly as long. (:**

**Up next on LMTS: Brooke tries to remember while Peyton does what she thinks is the best way to cope. Vague, I know, but that's all you get. Tehe.**


	12. Flourescent Adolescent

**Woooow. It's been forever since I've updated and I feel down right awful for that. I've actually had the majority of this chapter written for a very, very long time. I think I was close to finishing just a couple days after I posted chapter eleven. But then school got crazy, and life got crazy, and sadly enough I kind of lost touch with LMTS. I've read this chapter about a hundred times, determined to finish it, but every time I got to the end I was always too tired to actually write. So finally, now on xmas break, I choked out the last final bit of this. I'm not particularly fond of the end, because I know that my head wasn't in it while I wrote it, but I figured it was better than never getting this chapter posted. So my apologies for the delay, hopefully my brain will kick itself back into gear here and it won't take as long to update, but I'm not going to make any promises like I did last time. Haha.**

**Oh, and I realize that I am sooo totally dragging out the Breyton here, and I apologize… but, I'm going to continue doing it. Haha. **

**xxxxxxxxxx**

_Brooke_

I sat with my back against the headboard, hugging my knees to my chest and cradling my head in my arms whilst wishing desperately that I could take it all back.

The situation couldn't have been more awkward. It took me only a few seconds to realize what I was doing and pull back. But the damage had already been done, for the lack of a better expression. I wasn't really sure who was more shocked in that moment, me or her. I could see the extreme level of both surprise and bewilderment on her face. I probably looked like something somewhere between a deer in the headlights and a little kid who had just broken her mother's ridiculously expensive, antique vase.

I wasn't sure what I wanted more; to crawl under a rock and die or for Peyton to actually say something in order to make the situation less uncomfortable. The sudden tension between us was excruciatingly thick. She seemed so much closer than she had just seconds ago, and I couldn't tell if I needed to put fifty feet between us or if I wanted her closer. My mind was racing so fast it was difficult to focus on any one thing, let alone distinguish one thing from another.

The biggest question had to do with whether or not I regretted it.

But when she rather abruptly slid out of the bed and left the bedroom without so much as a single word, I had a strong feeling I would regret it.

Now, as I sat so defeated and alone just minutes after she left, I knew for sure that I regretted it.

I wasn't even sure why I did it.

I'd already had the argument with myself over my sexuality after the whole Rachel debacle. I had come to the concrete conclusion that I was _not_ gay. I liked boys. It was how it had always been and it was how it would always be.

But this… this was different. This was Peyton. There had to be a reason for what I'd done.

But what was it?

xxxxxxxxxx

_Peyton_

Inside the safety and comfort of my car, I took the time to take a breath and attempt to reign in my raging thoughts.

Did that really just happen?

Did Brooke Davis really just kiss me?

_Yes_, my mind answered. I wished it would automatically tell me how I felt about it, the way it had so promptly responded to my question. Hell, I wanted it to lie to me. I needed it to tell me 'no', that my best friend did not just kiss me. Or even if she did, that it wasn't the type of kiss I'd made it out to be.

But every coherent thought in my brain was screaming the contrary, that this was no simple kiss shared between two girl friends. She wasn't just saying thank you.

Something told me she was saying much, much more.

I turned the key in the ignition and swiftly slammed the car into gear. At first, I had no idea where I was going. I hadn't the slightest clue where I even wanted to go. But eventually, I realized where my instincts were taking me.

Lucas's house.

It was late, but I knew Luke wouldn't mind. So I didn't hesitate before getting out of my car and racing up to his bedroom door at the side of the house.

It took him a minute to actually open the door after I knocked, but as soon as he did, I threw myself into his arms and buried my face into the crook of his neck. The mere sight of him threw my emotions into overdrive, although I wasn't exactly sure why, or if they were good or bad emotions. Considering what had just happened, I had a slight feeling that I was doing this for all the wrong reasons.

But I didn't let that stop me.

"Peyton, what are you doing here?" Lucas asked softly, although he didn't loosen his arms from around my waist. I could tell that he knew I needed his nearness. He could always read me so easily…

"I don't know," I whispered honestly, my lips brushing against the side of his neck with every word. "I just needed to see you."

I really wished I could explain it more. I wished I could answer his question fully, but I couldn't. I didn't understand it enough. I didn't understand it at all.

I continued to kiss his neck slowly, but not for long. With his hands on my hips, Lucas pushed me back, away from his body. I lifted my gaze to meet his, silently expressing my confusion. Why would he push me away?

"Peyton," he said, the way he always did when he was skeptical of one of my decisions. I hated that tone, especially when he applied it to my name.

"What is it, Luke?" I asked, although I was beginning to theorize about why he was hesitant about my actions.

Our last intimate encounter hadn't exactly gone well.

"Why are you doing this?" He lifted his head a little and tilted it to the side, all the while his eyes glued to mine. It was a typical Lucas look.

Before I could even think of the honest way to answer his question, words began pouring out of my mouth, seemingly from nowhere. "Because I love you, Lucas," the words said as I stepped closer to him once again. I placed my hands softly on his chest. "And I want you," I continued, my voice getting softer as I leaned up to him. "And I think most of all, because I need you."

It was the partial truth. I wanted to be able to say it was the whole truth, but I wouldn't. I did need Lucas, to some extent, but not as much as I needed other people… well, at least not as much as I needed one other person.

But because of my heightened state of confusion due to the whole Brooke fiasco, I was clinging onto that need to be with Lucas, the same one that had gripped me just a couple nights ago. It had once again taken control of me, but this time, I knew it. I let the inexplicable force rage through me and attack every nerve, decide every movement.

I lifted myself up to meet his lips with mine, but again, it didn't last more than a few seconds before he was pushing me away again.

"You shouldn't be doing this, Peyton," he said, although the rejection was not one that would hurt me. I could see how difficult this was for him. It was obvious in his fierce blue eyes. "We shouldn't be doing this, not now. I just think you're confused."

My brows creased at that and I stared up at him quizzically. "Confused?" I repeated. My tone was only slightly offended.

"Okay, not confused," he corrected himself, shaking his head a little. "Just… lost."

Several seconds passed in silence, during which we just stared at each other. Yet again, I stepped closer to him, my hands on his upper arms, and whispered, "So find me." I kissed his lips softly. I really had no idea where these words were coming from. But I felt desperate at this point. I needed to be with him, to feel all of him and be surrounded by his strength and his undying beauty. I needed him to distract me… to make me forget. "Bring me back."

Relief rushed through me when at last he kissed me back with as much fervor as I did him. Without letting his lips leave mine, Lucas managed to close the door before pulling me with him deeper into his bedroom. We toppled gracefully to the bed together, our mouths fused in an urgent, passionate kiss.

The foreplay was minimal, and before I knew it, we were under the covers wearing nothing but a thin layer of sweat. He rolled us over and settled him between my knees, just like before. And just like before, my breath caught in my throat as panic took hold of me.

But Lucas was quick to try and remedy this. He propped himself up on his elbows so that I could see his face clearly. "It's okay, Peyton," he whispered, then brushed his lips briefly against mine. I struggled to catch my breath, fought to keep the fear at bay. "Look at me, baby," he continued. I felt his hand at the side of my face, his thumb softly stroked my cheek. I finally managed to get my eyes to focus on his blue ones. In them, I found peace, a certain calm that swiftly worked its way through my entire body.

"You're sure?" he asked, just as before. I closed my eyes and nodded, and was relieved that the only face I saw behind my eyelids was Lucas's.

I gasped as his hips fell to meet mine. "Slower." My voice came out strained, and I was sure my face looked ridiculous, contorted to match the pain I felt.

He obliged of course, and his whispered apology sounded far away. My fingertips dug into the backs of his shoulders, my eyes squeezed tightly shut.

I hadn't even noticed that Lucas had stopped completely until the soreness subsided. I opened my eyes to find Lucas looking down at me with nothing but worry etched across his handsome face.

"Should we stop? Do you want me stop?" His words were soft but rushed, but I quickly shook my head, negating his fear.

"No, no," I countered. I lifted my head up in order to kiss him softly. "Just, take it slow," I repeated. Somehow I actually managed to offer him a small smile, urging him to continue. Yes, it hurt, but I had expected it to. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but for some reason, I had the notion that it had to be done.

After several seconds, he began moving again. He slowly pushed himself deeper, once again eliciting a quiet groan from me. But he didn't stop this time, and I was glad.

Once he was completely buried inside me, he paused. "You okay?" he asked cautiously. I simply nodded in response, waiting for him to continue, but he didn't. "Open your eyes," he whispered as I felt his lips caressing my cheek. I obeyed, and forced my stubborn eyelids apart. I hadn't realized there were tears in my eyes until I saw that Lucas's face was blurry. But the tears didn't fall.

"Stay here," he told me as he began to slowly move in the opposite direction, extracting himself from me. I made sure to keep my eyes focused on nothing but his. I had a feeling Lucas knew what I needed more than I did. Perhaps his words were the only thing keeping me in the present, keeping me from slipping into haunting images from my past. "Stay with me."

I swallowed hard and nodded, before pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. I probably would have chewed a hole straight through it if Lucas hadn't kissed me just then. Although he was still keeping his movements slow and gentle, he was adopting a steady rhythm, and soon enough, the pain gave way to the pleasure…

Afterwards, I lay in Lucas's bed, curled up on my side close to the edge. Truthfully, sex with Lucas was everything I had expected it to be. It was wonderful, so much more than anything I'd ever experienced. It was loving and meaningful, even more so that it had been with Jake.

But if that was true, why did I feel so… off?

I was facing away from Lucas so he couldn't see my face, even though the darkness would prevent him from doing so even if I were turned to him. But I didn't want to take any chances. I didn't want him to see the tears glistening in my eyes.

Confusion. It was the only thing I felt in that moment. Confused as to why I had just done what I did, confused as to why I had felt like I needed Lucas so much and why I now regretted it.

For some reason, the image of Brooke came intruding into my thoughts. The image of her sitting on the floor between her and Rachel's beds, cradling a bottle of vodka in her bruised and broken arms. She was the last thing I wanted to think about, and yet I couldn't stop myself.

Why did she kiss me? To thank me? Because she'd been drinking? Or was she just as confused as me? I honestly didn't know what to make of it.

But something told me that I didn't react the way I should have.

I ran out on her. I abandoned her, quite possibly when she needed me most. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I threw myself into Lucas's arms blindly. I loved Lucas, I really did. But despite how much I wanted to deny it, things had changed. It was different. _I_ was different. Having sex with him now was a mistake, and I knew it.

Perhaps that was the reason for my silent crying. Maybe it was the dawning comprehension that every move I'd made since waking up had been a wrong one.

I shouldn't have left Brooke like that. I shouldn't have gone to Lucas. And I sure as hell shouldn't have slept with him.

An arm slipping around my waist pulled me from my thoughts and I inhaled deeply in attempt to gain control of my inhibitions.

"You're so quiet," he whispered as he moved his body closer to mine, my back to his front. "Is everything okay?"

I quickly nodded and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "Everything's perfect," I lied, before turning over so that I was facing him. This put our faces just inches from each other.

"I love you."

I half-smiled and nodded, and although it wasn't exactly something I wanted to do – and I wasn't sure why – I kissed his lips briefly.

"I should go," I said quietly. I didn't expect to escape questioning, but I knew for sure when his brow creased and uncertainty shone in his blue eyes.

"Why?" he asked.

"I need to see Brooke," I answered simply. It was the truth.

He didn't say anything, but just released his gentle hold on me. The way his lips pressed into a thin line did not go unnoticed by me, but I didn't say anything. Instead, I got up and fumbled around on the ground for my clothes. I threw each article on carelessly, and was just turning to leave as Lucas said, "Peyton, are you sure you're okay?"

I turned to look back at him from the door. I nodded, and managed a small smile. "I'm sure." I hated lying to him, but I wasn't about tell him why I wasn't okay. There was one person and one person alone who I needed to talk to this about, the one person I should have never left in the first place.

By the time I got back to Rachel's, it was nearly one o'clock in the morning. I let myself in with the spare key they'd given me after I got out of the hospital and quietly entered the house. Rachel was asleep on the couch in the living room downstairs. I didn't wake her. Instead, I just made my way up to their bedroom, where Brooke lay passed out haphazardly across her bed.

I gently straightened her out and got her under the covers, where I didn't hesitate to join her. I snuggled close to her and wrapped one arm around her middle. It was odd, how natural this felt. It was so easy, so much easier than it had been earlier, lying with Lucas after making love with him. This was the way Luke and I were supposed to be, and yet we weren't. Perhaps Brooke was the only one it would ever be so simple with.

Maybe, just maybe, Brooke had already realized this. Maybe, just maybe, that was why she kissed me.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Brooke_

Quite suddenly, the light on the other side of my eyelids registered with my consciousness and I felt blinded. I woke from my heavy sleep to find that my head felt as though it was splitting in two. I squeezed my eyes closed tighter, in hopes of willing the pain away, but it persisted.

God, what had happened? The only thing I remembered was drinking and looking at old photo albums. Everything else was lost, nothing but one large, jumbled blur. I couldn't recall how I had gotten into bed or under the covers. I wasn't even sure if Rachel was home or not.

And I sure as hell didn't remember falling asleep with someone's arm wrapped securely around me.

I pried my eyes open, ignoring their screaming protests, and looked down. I was surprised to find that the arm was long and slender. It quite obviously belonged to a girl. Rachel?

After finding the will to move, I turned my head to find out who it was I was sharing my bed with.

The blonde curls were about the last thing I expected to see.

I didn't remember her ever coming back from the school. I didn't even remember her calling to tell me she wasn't coming back. When had she come back?

"Peyton?" I mumbled, rather incoherently. It felt as though my brain was working in slow motion, and I had to try extra hard to get my body to respond to my commands.

Peyton was surprisingly quick to open her eyes. She looked at me with an expression that was impossible for me to read. I couldn't help but find that annoying, and the harder I tried to figure out what she might have been thinking, the more my head hurt.

So instead of trying to read her mind, I asked with a pathetically raspy voice, "What are you doing here?"

I watched Peyton hesitate for a moment, but I simply waited. Then quite suddenly, words began pouring out of her mouth. "I'm sorry about last night, Brooke," she ranted, sitting up slightly, but her arm remained wrapped around my middle. "I'm sorry for freaking out, and I shouldn't have run off like that. You needed me, and I just deserted you. I'm sure you-"

"Wait, Peyton, stop," I interrupted, shaking my head slightly, perhaps in hopes of straightening out my thoughts. I didn't understand any part of what Peyton had just said. I had absolutely no recollection of her 'freaking out' or 'running off'. I didn't even think she'd been here. "What are you talking about?" I asked, my tone conveying my bewilderment.

Peyton's brow fell into a crease, illustrating what I could only assume was her own confusion. She sat up straighter, and this time took her arm with her.

"You-" she started, but cut herself off as she continued to just stare at me with that puzzled look on her face. "You don't remember?"

This time it was my turn to furrow my brows. "Remember what?" I began to worry, thinking that maybe last night I had done something or said something that I shouldn't have. Maybe Peyton _had_ come by last night. When I thought about how much I couldn't remember, such as how I got into my bed, it made sense that perhaps Peyton did come to see me.

"Last night, you… you…" I listened desperately as she spoke, now completely ignorant of my headache. "You really don't remember any of it?"

I was beginning to get frustrated as my fear for what had happened grew. "Obviously not, Peyton."

Peyton just continued to stare at me with that utterly confused expression, and I waited, thinking that she was going to tell me. But when she abruptly got up out of bed, I had a strong feeling she wasn't going to be telling me anything.

"Peyton, wait," I said, sitting up as Peyton pulled on her shoes and turned to leave. "What's going on?"

She turned to look back at me over her shoulder with that same mystified look in her emerald eyes. I wanted so badly in that moment to be able to read her mind, and just see what had happened that would make her act this way.

But unfortunately I couldn't. And even more unfortunate, Peyton left, leaving me to wonder what the hell had gone down between us last night.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

**Okay, so I'm always saying that up next on LMTS, there's going to be this and someone's going to do that, and a lot of the time it doesn't happen. Haha. Soo, beings as how I have absolutely no idea what's going to be happening next, you get no sort of sneak peek or "up next on". Tehe. (:**


End file.
